look me in my eye

Working at the front desk of a hotel in downtown New Orleans has taught me a few things. I get asked the same questions over and over so I create different strategies on how I will answer them, depending on the person. If you put yourself in my shoes, you will see things from a different perspective.

Now, before you step foot in Nola, you already know it has a high crime rate. We are the murder capital of the country for God’s sake….so, keeping this in mind, you still decide to visit. Okay, totally fine with me. I get to keep my job, as long as the tourists keep coming.

You check in, get settled into your room, put on your best walking shoes. You set your sights on the French Quarter and all the fun and good food that it promises. Excitedly, you walk up to the front desk right before leaving the hotel to join the local festivities and ask me, “Is it safe?”

Short answer: No. Not really. BUT, I lie and say ‘yes’ to 95% of my guests because I feel it’s a psychological situation where if I say it’s not safe, you will energetically attract a bad situation. And I really don’t want you holed up in your hotel room scared to walk out the front doors because the mean lady at the front desk said people get robbed and/or shot every Tuesday…..and today is Tuesday.

So, after you have asked me the million dollar question, I look you in your eyes and assess. Okay, WHAT would you like me to say? Do you want me to lie? Based on your facial expression and display of some intelligence, I decide to treat you like the other 5% of guests.

So then, I stall, tuck my lips in tight, and do a little maneuver with my hands as if to say “ehhhhhhh.” You finally get the picture and come to your own conclusion. You then say “Oh yeah, I heard it’s pretty bad, so I’ll be careful.” BINGO. Job well done. See, I didn’t have to answer the question. I just nod and give you a pat on your head. Have fun, buttercup. Bring me back some beignets.

A few hours later, you return back to the hotel, with a big smile on your face and shopping bags in hand. I ask you “How was your day?” and you reply with a slight intoxicated slur, “Oh my God, It was fantastic! I love your city…and wish.. wish I could move here!” I don’t say a word, just smile and look down at my computer and get back to work.

You get back to your room, sit the shopping bags down, pop your leftovers into the microwave, and turn on the tv to New Orleans local news. While looking at your souvenirs you’ve scored for the day, they are displaying a familiar scene of the French Quarter with crime tape stretched from one side of the street to the other. With a crawfish shaped magnet in your hand, you stop to look and see what they are talking about because you recall stopping at that exact bar before deciding to go to the next street over.

The guy on the news is talking about something that happened in that area as soon as you left. Somebody was robbed and shot, just a little bit, on Bourbon St. in the middle of the day. On a beautiful Tuesday.

And you start to wonder, was the victim told by a mean lady at the front desk “No, it’s not safe.”