The rain started as we pulled into town.
Not the rain we were promised — driving, pounding, deep, the kind of rain sure to produce a glowing case of Swampass. No, this rain was special — a nasty case of the gray drizzles. The kind of rain that turns streets and windshields into a greasy mess but rarely collects in puddles.
We were just the crew to hype it.
Because when you’re an hour and a half out of town and the satellite truck is on the way, you gotta come back with something.
Luckily for us, Morgan City has been through this before. To the folks there, a little rain is nothing to hyperventilate over — even if the blow-dried dude at the Weather Channel is preaching from the Book of Katrina. No, to everyone here, it was just Tuesday.
The dudes closing off the flood gates to save the city from a watery apocalypse looked at us like we were growing a horn out of our logoed caps. Hell, even the local Walmart was fully stocked with bread.
That is when a news professional has to get creative and swing by the sandbag center — which had neither sand, nor bags, nor lines of angry homeowners lined up waiting.
With the stench of defeat hanging heavy on this turd of a roadtrip, we did what every journalist in this situation would do. We took a lunch break. You can’t hype a little bluster and drizzle on an empty stomach.
What we found was the hook for our story, and one hell of a fried soft-shell crab.