Katrina Still Ain’t Got Nothing On Me

(It’s 2005, and I’ve gone south to volunteer in a shelter after Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. One of the shelter residents is elderly and frail, and we are able to get her temporarily lodged in a local nursing home while we locate her family. She is from way down in the southwest part of the state, almost a hundred miles away. I am on the phone to a nurse at the home, explaining.)

Me: “We’re trying to find a way to get her home; unfortunately, she doesn’t have transport, and her family can’t come and get her. I’m going to be calling some of the churches in [Her Hometown] to see if we can arrange something.”

Nurse: “You’re at [Shelter], aren’t you?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

Nurse: “Is [Deputy] there? Tell him to come talk to me.”

(There are a couple of local law enforcement personnel providing security at the shelter. The deputy in question is, in fact, on duty that day, and I call him to the phone. He is the size of a small truck, has a shaved head and a grim face, and looks like he eats live alligators for breakfast. He puts the phone to his ear and…)

Deputy: *in a deep bass rumble* “Hello?” *suddenly his expression changes, as does his tone of voice* “Yes, Mamma.”

(And that is how a little old lady got a ride home courtesy of the local sheriff’s office.)

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