The morning light danced across the centuries-old brick walls of the Veaux Carré courtyard as Jean and Tinteaux arrived, greeted by the comforting aroma of chicory coffee and freshly fried beignets. Wrought-iron balconies framed the scene, their curling patterns casting lace-like shadows on the cobblestones. A dozen neighborhood association members sat around a polished oak table, their clipboards and curious gazes ready for the big pitch.
On a balmy night in 1830, the Académie d’Orléans opened its doors for a highly anticipated opera premiere. As the final curtain fell, the lead soprano vanished without a trace. Locals claim her voice still echoes through the French Quarter when heat ripples across ancient windows.
It’s Friday evening in Faubourg Marigny, and Tinteaux’s been invited to the “Tintleman’s Ball”—a quirky community fundraiser where locals showcase their home renovations and eccentric style upgrades. Jean packs a duffel of sample swatches, decorative film rolls, and one very dazzling fleur-de-lis tie for Tinteaux’s grand debut.
Jean stands in the shop, Tinteaux at her side, clipboard in hand. Today’s mission: teach our mascot to present Tintelligence™ for home and office windows.
The heat in Meraux was hotter than crawfish boil gossip on a Saturday. Jean cruised down Judge Perez Drive in her service van, windows down and playlist bumpin’. Riding shotgun was her trusty partner, Tinteaux—the Cajun gator with a sun-fighting streak and a love for Southern charm.
Jean and Tinteaux head east to Arabi, where the summer sun isn’t the only thing creeping in through the windows. Miss Loretta, a proud homeowner with more flair than a French Market fruit stand, has had enough of her nosy neighbors—namely, the Peekaboo Patrol duo: Glenda Glaremore and Larry Lurker.
Sunrise hits Orleans Tower like a drumline—loud, relentless, and radiating heat straight through the east-facing windows of a real estate investor’s high-rise office. The AC? Struggling. The building regulations? Strict as a Sunday sermon. Altering the appearance of the windows isn’t an option.
When the thermostat reads “gumbo boil” and the paparazzi’s lenses are always lurking, one local New Orleans Saints player knew it was time to call in the pros. Enter Jean and Tinteaux, armed with heat-rejecting film that blocks more rays than a defensive line blocks blitzes.
The lunch rush was building at Keith’s Seafood on Paris Road, and the windows were sweating like a catfish in hot grease. Jean pulled up in the rig, Tinteaux riding shotgun with a roll of SunTek film and a craving for Cajun fries.
Slidell called, and Jean answered — tool belt strapped, roll of SunTek film gleaming, and Tinteaux stretching beside the rig like he was prepping for a jazz solo. The East Side of the window tinting corridor was heating up, and a ranch-style home off Gause Boulevard was practically radiating SOS signals from its bay windows.
The day started like any other in New Orleans — hot, humid, and full of panes begging for mercy. But today was no ordinary job. Jean zipped up her uniform, grabbed the tint box, and looked at Tinteaux with a grin. “Ready to cross the big bridge?”
The lunch rush at Le Jardin des Épices was blazing. Pots clanged, gumbo bubbled, and sunlight crashed through the front windows like it was auditioning for a spotlight. Customers wiped their brows between bites, trying to enjoy the spice without soaking in sweat.
