About ten years ago, my sister, Katie, and I collected data from courthouses in various nearby parishes. It was called court reporting but I stuck with data collecting because every response at the mention of court reporting followed with raised eyebrows and, “oh, you’re in the court room all day recording cases?” No. Not that. Data collecting. It turned out I would get more raised eyebrows in response to much of what I’d said during that season of us working together.

During our travels, we encountered a variety of courthouses. Some were quaint little buildings nestled in antique sections of town, some were large and modern, others holes in the wall. One morning we headed to the Opelousas Courthouse. With no GPS to guide us we found our destination adjacent to several other offices. We pulled into the parking lot for the collective offices and then I saw the sign that would mock me for years to come.

DA Office

I’ve spent way too much time recently Googling the Opelousas area for signs to no avail. Even Google Earth couldn’t help me.

When I saw that sign with it’s lack of periods, apostrophe and the letter s, I laughed out loud (yes, I really did) and said, “{Duh} Office?” And then I made some remark about our Cajun state or something. Today it would’ve been a redneck remark. But anyway. My sister has NEVER let me live it down. Yes, I thought it was some backwoods sign for The Office. Somehow in between her hysterics, Katie made sure I knew it was indeed the D.A.’s Office sign. Well now, that makes since. A little. Except it’s still backwoods. A couple of periods or at the very least an apostrophe and s would’ve helped.

Katie is all too happy to share this story with anyone and everyone who will listen. Of course I never get a chance to defend myself. When we picked Jamie up from Marksville last month we met some really nice people at a local business. I wish I could remember the name of the business. I would love to give them a shout out not only because they were amazing people but also because the owner had an awesome road sign that he made. It was a giant helmet at the top of a pole that spun around. One side was for LSU, the other for the Saints. Win either team won, he turned the light on and the helmet would spin around. Awesome. Anyway, I think they were still laughing when we pulled off.

But that sign wasn’t the only one that would have Katie mocking me for the rest of my life. I have no idea what parish we were headed to (and be sure I’ve I Googled this as well) but one day we passed Lake Bigeau. I looked over the bridge at the large mass of water and said, “I wonder if they call it Lake {Big-O} because that’s a big ole’ lake.” Hysterics again from the passenger seat. We barely made it through the day. It’s difficult to work in a courthouse records room where you’re supposed to keep the noise down when your sister cannot control her giggles. It certainly doesn’t help when she wants to share with everyone interested why she’s so hysterical. Imagine my embarrassment when one man tells me through laughter with tears in all his Cajun accent, “it’s not Lake {Big-O}, it’s Lake {Bez-you}.”

Well.

Now I know.

In my defense I would like to add that I was born in Pensacola, Florida. I do not have a Cajun ancestry. Plus, HELLO, we’re known for our “Redneck” ways. We meaning our state in general, that is. Joe and I often talk about how it might be nice to get away from the quick paced life and move to a small town. But in these parts, I’m not sure I’d survive.