A Herd of Cattle, A Shrewdness of Apes, A Pace of Asses, A Scourge of Teenagers

After living in the apartment for about a year and a half, a small…what do you call a gathering of teenagers? It’s a murder of crows, a gaggle of geese, a flock of sheep, a herd of cattle, a shrewdness of apes, an exaltation of larks, a pace of asses, a scourge of mosquitoes… Yeah, we’ll stop with those last two. As I was saying.

A small pace of teenagers began to roost in regular fashion upon the steps leading down into the hallway in which the door to my apartment was located. At first it was just one or two. They would greet my son and I as we came home. I tried to be friendly yet slightly aloof. They’re like bees, you know. If you sort of blow on them as if to say “I’m not a flower, dumbass, I just smell like one,” (see section on perfume, why would you want to attract bees?), then they leave you alone, but if you swat at them they might sting. Or in this case, you might end up with sugar in your gas tank or something. Either way, they could see where I lived, so I wasn’t taking chances.

“Heeeeey maaaan,” would go the salute to my son, bleary pot-pink eyes to match, and sometimes accompanied by booze breath. “Hi!” my four year old would chime. For the sake of his childhood, I would muster a smile and try to put off an aura of “mess with my child and die."

Two became three and three became four, and four would multiply on the weekends to about seven. Usually drunk. One afternoon we came home to a young man, and I use the term lightly, passed out on the stairs. I guided my blissfully innocent child by the hand, but as we passed, he said loudly “look mommy that man is taking a nap!” with such glee that all I could do was say “why yes he is baby!” and try to keep him from noticing what appeared to be a wet spot under the guy’s crotch in the carpet of the landing. I guess it was the happiness of seeing what passed as an adult, doing something he did on a daily basis, I’m not sure, but the next time we saw him, I barely got my son out of earshot before he burst out with “Hi! Are you going to take a nap today?”

Children say wonderful things at not so wonderful times, or not so wonderful things but during wonderful times. My son has a small blue blanket which has been called the Blue Bee for as long as he could call it anything. He would also state that he needed things rather than wanted them. This would result in us in the store, walking casually around, him in the seat of the cart, when he would suddenly say “need boo bee! Need boo bee!” When you find yourself explaining that “boobie” is really blue bee, his blanket, to total strangers who are looking at you like you belong on some sort of list, mortifying is not really the word. It’s along the same lines of being in the bathroom stall and having your still-learning child shout something like “mommy are you going poopies?” or “boys have penises, girls have vaginas!” I was once congratulated by my son in a public restroom. “Good job mom! What a big poop!” I’m sure many fathers would have loved that, but most moms don’t.

Back to the teenagers.

So the scourge of teens, about seven of them, would get drunk or high or drunk and high, on the steps. For some reason, this caused not only their brains to cease functioning, but their legs as well. Even cats will use a litter box, and they’re animals. Teens apparently aren’t as evolved. Instead of going to use a toilet, they would simply pee under the stairs. They would also get drunk and vomit in the middle of the hall.

There was also a girl fight over a guy, which resulted in the police being called.

This might be the same group who stole, then returned, my birthday present, but that's another story.

Ok I'm too lazy to make it a whole other story so I'll just explain.

See, a friend of mine got me one of the Sandman volumes for my birthday. He wrapped it and left it in front of my door for me to find. I think he then left, hoping I would open the door, but I was asleep or watching a movie or something, because I never noticed. He texted me, and I went to the door and looked. Nothing. I told him so. I looked around some more, and found it. Someone had stolen it, opened it enough to see it was a book, apparently decided that books are not worth stealing, and ditched it under the stairs in the urine puddles.

Thankfully it doesn’t smell anymore.