Many years ago I had a relative named Oneida Toups. I said "had" because I'm sure the woman has long since passed on. We shared a surname and I was always told that I was related to her. I'm not sure if there's a rank system among witches, but Oneida Toups was supposed the "head witch" of New Orleans.
One morning, just as the Sun was coming up, I was in the New Orleans French Quarter after bar hopping all night. Understand that I wasn't drunk. In those days, while I enjoyed drinking, I was very wary of DUI enforcement. I might hit a bar and have a beer. Then I'd hit another bar and just order a coke.
I decided to have breakfast at a dingy little diner on Decatur Street. The place was packed, but I noticed an empty seat at the counter. The reason for the empty seat became quickly apparent. The seat next to the empty one was occupied by a crazy woman. I do not exaggerate. Her clothes - including her hat - were adorned with all kinds of charms and fetishes. She was waving her hands in the air and seemed to be talking to herself. Crazy woman or not, I wanted that seat and I wanted breakfast.
I sat down and, as expected, the crazy woman started in on me. At one point, I was given to understand that she was Oneida Toups' assistant. I told her that I was related to Oneida Toups, but had never met her. An immediate change came over the woman and she began to treat me like royalty. She also insisted on introducing me to Oneida Toups, who had a famous witchcraft shop a couple of blocks away!
"Why not" I thought to myself and after I finished my breakfast, I loaded the crazy woman on the back of the Harley and headed off to the witchcraft store.
I'm not sure what I expected, especially after meeting the crazy woman, but Oneida Toups was the antithesis of the crazy gal. She struck me as a cold, hard-nosed businesswoman and confirmed that we were - somehow and distantly - related. The witchcraft store struck me as being filled with a lot of cheap junk and I certainly wasn't interested in buying anything. After a very brief interlude I said that it had been a pleasure meeting her and departed by saying "Say some good magic for me."
With that, I left the store and never saw Ms. Toups or the crazy lady again.
You can encounter some weird shit in the New Orleans French Quarter, but that's part of its dubious charm.
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Doc