narratives

At the laundromat this morning it was crazy full. A guy put his clothes in a dryer, then his card, and started to walk away. A woman asked, "Did you start it?" I leaned over and pushed the button and another guy said, "Oh, your clothes are in the wrong one - this one's for up and this is down." The guy looked a little bewildered and I said, "Yeah, it's confusing." "I did that before ... in Houston," said the helpful guy. I did an mmm-hmmm, the kind the church ladies in the Black Baptist churches do, in their 'tell me about Jesus, brother!' way. "I was in Austin myself," said the first guy.

That's the post-Katrina narrative, the evacuation tales. It's the tie that binds. When I first got here I asked everybody their story and I heard some amazing ones. Now though I wait for these moments when the narrative emerges.

But there are other narratives there as well. Helping people before they ask, being friendly. They were helping a guy who didn't really speak English, too - though one of the guys kept saying "card" louder and louder. He's not deaf, man, he's not English-speaking. And another guy, who spoke slower and clearer, interceded and got it all taken care of. The friendliness is more than just a characteristic - it's a narrative living simultaneously in locales everywhere New Orleanians are.

Don't get me wrong - in the post-Katrina narrative it's not all love and welcome. One guy there was pissed about something - probably the difficulty getting machines - and was swearing up a storm. Two high school kids were just killed after giving a guy a ride, the same night somebody went into a Mid-City bar and shot 6 people. Domestic violence is super common, as well as violence about drug deals. And not just fighting, but killing. And don't even ask somebody to testify - which is one reason only something like 17% of the murderers here get any kind of punishment.

And that all might be a real New Orleans narrative which I choose to ignore while focusing on the narratives with the rhythm of Rebirth Brass Band's "Do Whatcha Wanna."

There was recently an article in the newspaper about a law school writing professor - her tips were great. One of the best was to craft arguments as narrative. Is there a hero epic hidden there, a Cinderella? Being a lawyer is all about storytelling and spin, summoning sympathies. Is that 15-year-old murderer a victim to be rehabilitated, who society has neglected and we have a last chance to save, or a demon seed who should be thrown away to protect our innocent children?

With that eye, I looked at the appellate brief draft I turned in last week. This poor police officer was just being polite and friendly, I asserted. Displaying our values to this foreigner who tried to break these cultural mores. (Of course if representing the other guy I would have worked the narrative of we are a nation of immigrants and he is a good guy in a persecuted minority.)

My writing instructor is a New Orleanian, so hopefully the narrative rings true to her. There are a number of places in the world where it would be a joke, but it's the NOLA narrative, punctuated by "babes" and "mmm hmmmms."