US: Many of those who fled have nowhere to go and no possessions other than the clothes they are wearing, reports Jamie Wilson, in Gonzales, Louisiana.
"Can I please have a blanket?" pleaded the man in the yellow jacket and blue trousers.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but if you'll just be patient," said the man wearing the volunteer badge. "Right now, we're just trying to work out how much we got, and we're going to have to prioritise."
"But I got nothing. I need something to sleep on. Please, please, I need a blanket," the man replied, banging his foot on the floor.
The emergency shelter at the Lamer Dixon convention centre in Gonzales, 50 miles west of New Orleans, had only been open for six hours, but already nerves were frayed.
Although the 1,500 people inside might not have felt like it, they were the lucky ones. On the road leading to the shelter, a queue of cars stretched for more than a mile.
Even as the rescue effort continued in New Orleans and other cities and towns along the gulf coast, another problem was presenting itself to the overstretched authorities: what to do with the tens of thousands of people who had fled New Orleans?
When they left their homes, they were evacuees, but by yesterday, with dire predictions that it could be months before many districts of New Orleans are habitable again, they had become refugees in their own country.
Hotels are full as far away as Houston, Texas, and many people are staying with relatives in other parts of the US.
But many thousands more have nowhere to go and no possessions other than the clothes they are wearing.
"We have space for 1,500 people in here and we were full within two hours of opening," said Mike Champagne, the shelter manager. "We're having to turn people away, but at the moment, I can't be sure where they are going to go."
The concrete floor of the giant metal hangar was covered in people lying on a multi-coloured patchwork of blankets, quilts, duvets, sleeping bags and rugs. Clothes and bedding donated by locals lay in piles and there was a large supply of powdered milk and lots of nappies for infants.
Sitting in one corner of the shelter, eating plates of rice and beans cooked by the volunteer staff, were the Sirchia family, who had escaped from New Orleans on Tuesday morning.
"I'm a chef and we all went to the hotel where I work to escape the storm," said Angelo Sirchia. "But we started running out of food and were down to the emergency generator. Basically, we had no choice but to leave."
Mr Sirchia, his wife Maria (39), son Angelo jnr (13), daughter Cecelia (7) and father Joseph (73) piled into their little car and headed out of town.
"We have a suitcase of clothes between us, and I brought my knives. I'm a chef, I can't be without them," he said.
As for their home in New Orleans? "It's under water. Well, where it was is under water. I don't know if there was anything left of it to sink after the wind got done with it."
Ryan Adams (39) had left the city on Saturday and he was already sick of sleeping on a concrete floor. "I guess you have to be grateful, but I'm not sure how long I can put up with this," he said, gesturing at the seething mass of humanity.
"It's just too crowded. I stop breathing when I sleep, so I have to have a machine. But there are not enough sockets, and people keep unplugging it to charge their cell phones."
Asked how long he expected to have to stay, Mr Adams said: "Lord knows. I hope not too long. My daughter is somewhere in Lafayette, my son is somewhere in Mississippi. Right now, I am just hoping everyone is okay."
Tim Anweiller (43) was parked outside the entrance to the centre, clutching a piece of paper. Almost in tears, he was trying to read directions he had been given after being turned away. "They say there is another centre in Baton Rouge, but I know it will be full by the time we get there," he said.
Mr Anweiller, his wife, two children and two neighbours had squeezed into a small van after the authorities warned them that the area of New Orleans where they lived was about to flood.
The family had ridden out the storm at home, but it was clearly not something Mr Anweiller had enjoyed. "I haven't slept since. It was the sound of the wind.
"I've never heard anything like it. It sounded like there was a jet engine in the back yard. It was just this scream . . .
"My house is built on cinder blocks, and when the whole thing moved on the blocks I knew it was time to go. I saw these big iron dumpsters being tossed down the street like they were nothing. I'll tell you, next time we hear there are winds off Puerto Rico, we're heading for Alaska."