You kids get off my porch

When did I turn into the crazy neighbor lady? I'm think this is a new thing, but perhaps I've been an incipient wacky crone for some time now, and didn't realize it until just recently.

Let me explain.



About a year ago, I got a new upstairs neighbor. Two, actually: Susan, and her son Brendan, age ten. Three, actually, if you count Brendan's small yappy dog. All of this would be trying enough for a single lady with no kids or pets, but when Brendan moved in, my house became a mecca for every Declan, Mike and Joseph in the neighborhood. And like Brendan's small dog, these kids can make a lot more noise than their size would lead you to believe.



Little Joe is the worst offender. He's an undersized kid, with huge eyes and a home haircut that leaves his smallish head looking shorn and vulnerable. He wears sports-themed t-shirts, many sizes too large. Before Brendan moved in, I used to see him peddling his bike around the neighborhood, his "Reverse the Curse!" tee hanging nearly into the spokes of his BMX. I thought he was kind of a cute kid, until Brendan moved in and he started showing up on my front porch everyday, leaning indiscriminately and repeatedly on the first doorbell he came came across. Since I live on the first floor, that means it was usually mine.



Let me tell you, Little Joe doesn't speak, as far as I can tell, but he's a hell of a doorbell ringer.



At first, I was patient. He'd lean on the doorbell, and I'd go out and let him in and remind him that I live on the first floor and Brendan lives on the second, so hit the top bell. Then, one day, the poor little bastard had the misfortune to ring when I was on the phone, and I let him have it.



"Okay, what's the problem?" I asked, holding the handset against my hip and leaning on the doorframe. "Do you just like my doorbell? Is that it? It's more attractive to you somehow?"



Little Joe stared at me with his enormous Victorian waif eyes, and didn't say anything.



"Because, as I believe we've already established, Brendan lives UPstairs. UPSTAIRS. So when you want to reach him, which bell do you ring?"



Little Joe's mouth opened slightly, and a bit of drool spooled out over his cracked lower lip.



"The UPPER bell. That's right. Now let's try this again." And I shut the door.



There was a momentary pause, and then Joe started hammering on the upper doorbell. Shame washed over me in a wave. Had I actually just berated a ten year old?



I put the phone back to my ear, and retreated back into my apartment. "Sarah?"



"That was awesome."



"I'm totally the crazy neighbor lady."



"Whatever. He's got to learn."



"I should definitely have my tubes tied now, because if my kids do stuff like that, I'll probably drown them."