Content warning: The blog post that you are about to view contains whining. Don't say you weren't warned.
With New Orleans set to host Super Bowl XLVII right smack dab in the middle of Carnival season, the world was waiting for party-geddon. From the time that I first started pedicabbing in November 2011 I had been anticipating this with a mixture of dread and delight: dread at the disruption that would be brought on by all the congestion and chaos; delight at the dollars I would be making from the crowds. It was going to be a big mess, no question; but at least it was going to be a very profitable mess.
...followed by desperation
Making a living off tourism in New Orleans is a little like farming. In the first place, there are seasonal rhythms. The autumn and spring are good times; winter is meager; and summer is worse. We also face other fluctuations, which unlike the annual rhythms are next to impossible to predict: droughts and bumper crops, if you will.
In line with the typical seasonal patterns, this past summer was slow. You can't blame the tourists for staying away really. Spending your summer vacation in 97 degree heat and 98 percent humidity is bearable only at the beach -- and then only barely. Unfortunately, New Orleans is separated from the sea, not by a narrow strip of sugar-white sand, but by 60 miles of mosquito- and alligator-infested marsh. In addition to this all-around lack of carriage-ride candidates, there were plenty of days when we weren't able to work more than a couple of hours before the temperature hit 95 degrees, at which point municipal law requires us to take the mules back to the barn.
This was my first summer in the tourism industry, so I had no frame of reference, but my carriage driver colleagues all said that they had seen worse. As summers go, this one was not bad at all, they said. Most of them had set aside money during the easy months of March and April, so they had plenty of reserves to carry them through. Unfortunately, I had started driving the carriage in May, just about the time that things were starting to slow down. Then, right in the middle of the summer, my ex-wife and I had to move out of the house we had been sharing in Slidell and set up separate houses here on the South Shore. Naturally, this move entailed a lot of extra expenses.
When I first started driving the carriage, my intention had been to continue working an occasional shift on the pedicab just for the pleasure of it. As it turned out, I found myself forced by circumstances to work five day-shifts on the carriage and three night-shifts on the pedicab every week -- the equivalent of eight days work a week! I wouldn't have imagined myself capable of maintaining this kind of pace till I actually had to do it. In a way, it turned out to be kind of fun.
Even when it wasn't all that fun, I faced the exhaustion with the confidence that this was only for a little while. October was coming. October was always a great month, my carriage-driver colleagues assured me. Then after that... THE SUPER BOWL AND MARDI GRAS ALL AT THE SAME TIME! That promise of easy money ahead made it possible for me to keep pushing my limits.
...then disappointment
We had a couple of good days early in October, then things fizzled. The old-timers complained that they hadn't seen such a slow October since the year Katrina hit. The crowds of visitors were much thinner than usual; and even when you did manage to load up the carriage, it was getting harder and harder to conduct a tour. The big event was months away, but the chaos and congestion had already commenced. Streets were being repaved, hotels renovated, sidewalks resurfaced. Every tour demanded an elaborate detour. Navigating the mules past cement mixers, jackhammers, and blow torches often transformed what would otherwise have been a sleepy stroll through the old streets into extreme adventure tourism.
And that was on the days that we were actually able to get out and work. There were many days when Decatur Street was shut down, and we couldn't even access our hack stand (the area in front of Jackson Square where we park our carriages and load up for tours). Conditions became so difficult and dangerous that the company excused even experienced drivers from showing up for work.
One day, in the middle of this mess when we had already missed a lot of work, we got word that Decatur Street was going to be open, and we all showed up eager to make some money. Once we got out to Jackson Square it turned out that they were setting up a stage in our spot, so once again we couldn't access our hack stand. Improvising, I headed up Saint Louis Street looking for a place to park. I found myself threading the carriage through a tight spot between a parked taxi on my left and a dumpster on my right, which had been placed there to collect construction waste from the renovation of a hotel. Just as I was navigating this narrow corridor, a construction worker slung a strip of plastic strapping into the dumpster right at the eye level of my mule. The startled mule leaped a foot to the left, causing the carriage to clip the taxi. It didn't look like a lot of damage, but it ended up costing the company $1,900.
On the pedicab, the construction projects were nothing more than a minor annoyance. But there was still the other problem that there just too few tourists in town -- and even fewer who were in a mood to ride. One miserable night in early December I set a record low for money made in a shift on the pedicab. Then I broke that record on the very next shift. Then I broke it again. And again. There were nights in December and January when I was going home with less than $30. (I have to admit that I don't really know whether this had anything to do with the impending Super Bowl. Maybe it would have been an exceptionally slow winter anyway.)
The closer we got to game day, the worse things got. Just when things were at their slowest, the mule carriages were displaced yet again from the hack stand while CBS spent several days hauling in and setting up the stages and equipment to turn Jackson Square into a big TV studio. I remember one day during this time when I managed to do three tours. Under normal circumstances this would have been a D+ performance, but on that particular occasion my colleagues teased me about being the big booker. There were only five tours in total done by all the carriage drivers who showed up to work that day in the city of New Orleans!
Through all the hot, hungry days of my rookie summer there had never been a day that I had gone home after a full shift without having done a single tour. There had been some "two-and-through" days and even a few "one-and-done" days, but I had never "blanked". Then, in the last two weeks before the Super Bowl, I blanked -- not once, but twice. There was a grim joke making its way up and down the buggy line those days: "We can't wait for August to come around so we can finally make money!" It was too close to the truth to be very funny.
Carriage drivers and pedicabbies weren't the only ones suffering. The experience of one of the artists who sells his work at Jackson Square closely mirrored mine. In the days leading up to the Super Bowl, there were two occasions when he spent the entire day out at the Square and failed to sell a single painting. Like me, this had never happened to him before in his career. The difference was that I had been been a buggy driver for only eight months; he had been selling artwork at Jackson Square for eight years!
Hotel and restaurant workers reported similar experiences. An online article in NolaVie contained a poignant passage which bears quoting verbatim: To those voices that were not heard, I dedicate today's column. I dedicate it to the hotel housekeeper who works in a mid-sized French Quarter hotel for $8 an hour. The housekeeper whose shift was cut in half, two days in a row, because scores of guests who had pre-paid the four-night minimum stay simply decided not to show up until Saturday afternoon. Losing $800 or more of your pre-payment isn't that big of a deal, I guess, when you're paying in excess of $1500 for one seat to one game. But losing 8 hours of work is a big deal... when you make $8 an hour. This is the kind of thing that makes me want to go join an occupy protest.
According to USA Today the NFL had an agreement with the city by which they blocked out 90% of the 30,000 hotel rooms in the New Orleans area. Many of the remaining 10 percent were snatched up by corporations, the article reported. This helps to explain why there weren't many tourists in town the last week before the big game. But it doesn't really do much to explain three terrible months.
...and finally a little relief
On the morning of Friday, the 1st of February -- two days before game day -- my landlord called, and I didn't answer. I didn't have the money to pay the rent, and I couldn't bring myself to face telling him that.
That day turned out OK. Kind of an average Friday. Which is to say much, much better than the preceding days had been, but still nothing that even remotely resembled the kind of Friday I would have expected just two days before the Super Bowl.
The next morning, Saturday, the 2nd, the landlord called again. This time I forced myself to pick it up. "I'm really sorry, but I just don't have it," I told him. I'll give you half now, and try to give the rest as soon as I can. I'm really sorry. I've never been in this situation before, but things have been hard lately."
He was gracious. He told me that I was a good tenant and that we would work something out. How soon could I come up with the other half? he asked. I told him that I really didn't know but that I would do my best.
Twenty-four hours later I had made more than $1,100! I worked the carriage all day and the pedicab all night, setting personal records on both.
The pedicab actually turned out to be more profitable than the carriage. The rides were pretty much non-stop, and people were practically throwing money at me. The shift began at 6 PM. I hadn't eaten since early that morning, but I didn't want to stop accepting rides and go out of my way to get something to eat. I figured that sooner or later I would find myself between rides at a spot where I could grab some food. As it turned out, it was definitely later rather than sooner. 11:10 PM to be precise. Looking back, I know that I was a bit irritable because I was so hungry. Ordinarily, I don't make make much money on the pedicab if I'm not in a good mood; but this was one night where you could get away with being a bit rude.
I went home after the shift and collapsed in bed, calculating that I had just enough time for a 30 minute nap before I had to get up and get ready to ride out on the carriage again. Fifteen minutes later I got a call from an old friend in Kosovo. No matter. Life was good. I didn't know what time my landlord usually woke up, but it took all the will power I could muster to wait till 7 AM to call him with the good news: "You can stop by and get your check. I've got it all!"
That Super Bowl Eve had turned out to be a super day for me -- a day in which I made more money than I had ever made in a 24 hour period in my life. But that one gully washer didn't begin to make up for the three months of severe drought that had preceded it. I was thrilled to be able to pay the rent, but it would be several more weeks before I was caught up on all my bills.
Super Bowl Sunday itself was mediocre. No surprise really. Nobody had carriage tours on their mind that day. At the end of the day, having missed the chance to give Joe Montana a ride, I went home and went to bed. I slept right through the game. I didn't know about the blackout till the next day.
Having survived the Super Bowl, I don't think that I would wish the experience on my worst enemy. Actually... I'm lying. The next time they're looking to pick a host city, I think that I'm going to volunteer to head up the committee to lure the game to Atlanta. Wouldn't that be sweet!
