Adieu College Kids, Bonjour Neighbors

Last weekend Chris and I noted with a bit of relief that the long rows of moving trucks double-parked all over the City of Boston must signify the mass exodus of college students from their ratty apartments back to wherever the hell they hail from. Good riddance, undergraduate folk! Until September, may you grace your homelands with your drunken shouting and not my doorstep.

Does it seem as though I am still bitter about my Walden experience of Monday? Because I am.

Anyway, Chris and I discussed how with all the school kids gone our neighborhood would likely become very quiet and serene for the next few months. We fantasized about how a bunch of young professionals might move in; friendly folk that we could smile at and have the occasional chat, and then go on our merry (and quiet) ways. The trees were blooming, the two nasty girls next door had moved on, and our street was looking quite cheerful.

Except we were wrong, again. What we didn't realize was that the sunny, warm weather meant that it was time for the 4-month long block party: all white trash, all the the time. It seems our invite was lost in the mail, but that doesn't stop our neighbors from bringing out the lawn chairs and plastic stools, the beer cozies and the styrofoam coolers full of Natty Light, the packs of Newports and chew, and plopping themselves right down on the sidewalk every afternoon from 3 p.m. (when I get home from work- hell, they could be there well before 3 for all I know) to well past dark. All of them. In a row, in front of their houses. Calling to each other, cackling with laughter through emphysema lungs, and bellowing at their half-naked wayward children running in the street. All through my very open windows, which let in the breezy sunshine in addition to their blue collar cavorting.

Yesterday afternoon I lay down on my couch to try to do a little reading and/or napping before I set out for a long walk. The instant my head touched the soft pillow I heard an odd cawing shriek. What the hell? Where there crows outside? A band of wild crows? I peeked out the window to see a child squatting in his diaper in front of his drunk mother with his face all screwed up, letting out a steady flow of outraged screams at constant intervals. Four second scream, two second pause. Four second scream, two second pause. I thought, in my absurd naivete, that the noise was so irritating that surely someone would stop him quickly in some way. Wrong! Stupid NPW. Everyone just sat slumped in their molded plastic WalMart chairs staring stupidly at the boy and occasionally attempting to make feeble conversation around him.

How long could he last at this screaming game? Longer than I could. I threw on some shoes and bolted out the door for that walk before I could test the limits of his endurance. Come back, college kids! At least when it's cold outside the neighbors contain their Crow Children to their basements.

On a happier note, here is a picture of the Boston skyline from the Tufts library roof- for Jenn, who misses the city.