Saturday, March 17, 2007


Gangs of green-clad drunken twentysomethings swarmed the north side today.

Now I understand why St. Patrick's Day rarely falls on the weekend.

But the festivities began long ago.

Last night I was awakened at 2:30am. The building was shaking. Doors were slamming. People in the courtyard were yelling.

I ignored it at first. But since I was up I ate some watermelon and read a mildly amusing essay by Illeana Douglas.

But the noise only got worse; every minute or so the neighbor's back door would slam and someone would stomp down two flights of wooden stairs.

I finally crept outside and peered over the railing.

Below me was an inebriated, keg-shaped gent with a green plastic derby perched atop his fat head.

I overcame the urge to throw dirty cat litter on him.

I slammed my back door, hard.

But the noise continued.

At 3:30AM I slammed the desk chair into the floor, hard.

The hubbub subsided for two seconds, and then resumed.

I crept into the front hall and listened; the only voices coming from the neighbor's door were male.

Apparently this was some sort of pre-St. Patrick's Day stag party.

I tried again to sleep. No luck. (I'm not even remotely Irish).

So I did the thing I never thought I would do.

I called the police. The Man.

It felt good to share my frustration with someone, anyone -- even if it was a stuttering dispatcher who didn't give a rat's ass about me.

I don't know if The Fuzz ever came.

Just in case they didn't, I rang the guy's buzzer -- hard -- when I left for class this morning.

Happy St. Paddy's Day indeed


  1. Jeez, out here in the sticks we get our drunk on early and are in bed by midnight. I really like the dirty cat litter idea, but his green plastic helmet would have saved his pig head.
    Those guys are the real swine.

    No you gotta think of payback.

  2. Almost forgot, to get 30 second response, call the police and report 30 people partying on that wooden deck. You will have cops, fireman, tv crews, drunk city officials, etc.