On Sunday, Charlotte and I ended our trip to New Orleans. After the car break-in, Charlotte and I had managed to see some parades the next day and enjoy ourselves despite the crime.

We nearly did not make it out of New Orleans.

After the break-in, having no passenger side window, we had to empty the car of everything so that the car wouldn’t be broken into a second time. This process should not be underestimated, as there is absolutely no extra room in my car right now (I really need to get one of those car top carriers). Having had to take out all of the things in my car, we had to put it all back in the car on Sunday, so that I could drive Charlotte down the road to Baton Rouge to catch her flight.

With one trip left to get everything in the car, Charlotte and I went back to the room. However, instead of being able to get into the room, we got a yellow light when we put the key card in its slot. Charlotte ran down to the front desk, and got a card recharged. Back again, we still got the yellow light.

The maid, cleaning the room next to ours, came by and tried her key – still no luck, and still getting the yellow light. Meanwhile, on the other side of the door sat the last of our things – including both of our purses.

And, of course, Choppy.

As more and more people kept trying the door, Choppy kept getting more and more aggravated. She is generally just fine in a hotel room, rarely even so much as barking. However, as she presumably could tell something was wrong, she was sitting on the other side of the door, whining and otherwise sounding aggravated. She was also obviously pawing at the door’s handle at random intervals, knowing full well how the doors work, having opened them previously, and likely figuring this was a good way to escape the hotel room and get to us on the other side of the door.

The maid, having failed to get the door open, suggested we call maintenance. The maintenance man showed up, and tried his key. Again, it didn’t work. After retrieving some sort of machine that appeared to involve changing the key code, the maintenance man seemed a little disturbed to find that this didn’t work either.

He asked how big the dog we had in the room was. When I told him that she was rather large, he told us that she might have hit the deadbolt and put it in place, in which case we might need a locksmith if the master key wouldn’t open it up. With her history of attempting (and sometimes succeeding) in opening doors, I was pretty sure that this was exactly had happened.

File this statement about the potential need for a locksmith under “things you don’t want to hear when you need to get someone to a flight at an airport that is an hour down the road.”

The maintenance man went to find the master key, the last chance to get the door open without calling the locksmith/stranding Charlotte and I in New Orleans far longer than intended.

After returning with the hotel master key, the maintenance man tried it, and the light on the door flashed green, finally unlocking the door without having to call in a locksmith. Choppy looked thrilled, as did Charlotte, knowing that we would have plenty of time to make her plane.

Suffice to say, Mardi Gras and New Orleans were eventful. Having dropped Charlotte off at the airport on Sunday, I’m headed to Texas next, hoping for the sort of excitement that doesn’t involve criminal activity or other unpleasant possibilities.

Sisters at Oak AlleyOur last Louisiana stop – great to see Charlotte (and happy I am not the one headed back to cold weather – as you can see from the sweatshirt, two weeks in warm weather has made me feel cold anytime the temperature dips below 75 or so).