Waiting for the Trolleys

 

I suppose I look like I know what I am doing. Waiting for a trolley at St. Charles and Martin Luther King Boulevard in New Orleans, two couples were milling around the stop. It was an odd place for a group of older tourists to be. I suspect they were not in the area to see the location of the 1900 Race Riots. One of the men, after some quiet conversations among the four, got up the courage to ask him for if I were local. The other man stood a couple of steps back, as if backup. “I am not,” I confessed, “but if I…”. I did not finish the sentence. They wanted help figuring out how to ride the trolley. I explained how on the app you could buy a pass for unlimited rides for $3, versus $2 per trip. He wanted to know if he could buy passes from the conductor; he could not. They are only available on the app. His response: “I’m old, I don’t like to put apps on my phone.” One could always delete the app as soon as you leave town. He acknowledged that was a possibility, “but still…”  he drifted off, and I meandered away. When I boarded my trolley, going the opposite direction, the four stood remained in the middle of St. Charles Avenue debating what to do.