So, you wanted photographic evidence?

Photos of suits and flip flops?

You got it

This guy was actually pretty hot, in a hipster-gone-executive kind of way. Grody feet though.
shirt, tie, flip flops

Oh, the Southern Gentlemanly hotness of a seersucker suit…. but paired with grey tube socks and sandals?
seersucker and sandals

These were both taken just in the last few days. Flip flops are an epidemic here.

Jeopardy

Vincent: I’ll take “Awkward Situations” for $600, Alex.
Alex Trebek: Walk into the bar carrying a camera and order a Diet Coke.
Vincent: bzzzt! What is the best way to freak out an entire bar of queers the day after the most controversial Southern Decadence festivals in years?
Alex Trebek: Correct!

Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doodoodoodoodoodo doodoo

So yeah, that was me. I wondered around the French Quarter today, taking pictures for a series I’ve had in mind for a while. After about an hour of shooting, something occurs to me: I am about to have a heatstroke. I walk up and over a block to my airconditioned gay bar of choice, Good Friends. I walk in, carrying my black Nikon with the striped strap, completely oblivious to the 7 or 8 people giving me the oh-ah-ah-no-he-di’int stare. I looked like every crazed right wing Hard Copy photojournalist that’s been in there this weekend trying to get pictures of public sex, This is when they begin to make forced small talk with me so I’ll leave.

“Good evening.” he says. I jokingly rebut with “it’s 9am.” He starts to go off on the New Orleanian favorite “We go 24 hours here, we don’t pay much attention to time!” but I stop him at “go” and let him know that I’m from here.

With a camera.

This doesn’t help me much.

The bartender asks me what I would like to drink. I ask for a Diet Coke.

Of course I would like a Diet Coke. I’m a deranged Christian Photojournalist that is trying to get pictures of illegal public peni, I couldn’t possibly drink alcohol!

Behind me, someone enters the establishment. The bertender yells across the bar to our new guest, “Hey! I’m getting a bag of Krystal, you want anything?”

If there was a needle that played the dance videos, I think it would have scratched across just then. The bartender, realising what he said, felt the sudden need to explain to me that he meant “Krystal” as in the burgers, not “Crystal” as in the meth. The look on his face made me want to cry.

I decided I was doing more harm than good, so I left. I actually feel kind of bad about it all.