Ghetto Life

I honestly did not know I was moving into a ghetto-possible situation when I signed my lease here. Granted, the buildings are new and the interior of my apartment is quite nice. There are no vermin, no bugs, and as far as I have seen, there is no graffiti anywhere on the grounds. However, 'ghetto' can also be an attitude or projection.

Those of you know me are aware of the fact that I am not a person who bases my opinion on ethnicity. Fact are facts, though - and by the powers of observation I feel compelled to remark that my apartment complex is turning into an Hispanic Haven.

It started innocently enough. A few short days after my arrival here, I became aware of a particular car that would often stop right in front of my building. The driver would blow the car's horn until he car received some sort of acknowledgement from someone in the apartment two doors down from mine.

At a later date, I saw the young woman from this apartment standing on our "stoop" and beckoning wildly to someone two buildings away. Shortly thereafter, I heard her phone ring.

It is all coming to a head now. I will not mention the Sunday trips that result in several..and I mean several..Wal*Mart bags being lugged up the stairs by the occupants of apartment 5. However, I feel the following bears mentioning:

On Saturday afternoon the silence of my sanctuary was disturbed by loud thumping music coming through the walls. I believe it was Beyonce'. What I know for certain is the singer was belting out something about her willingness to be someone's "naughty girl." Thankfully, I had plans for the late afternoon & evening. As I stepped outside and began the process of locking up my apartment, I saw the older male occupant of apartment 5 wiggling-gyrating to the music. You may ask how I saw him dancing. It was not difficult. The door to the apartment was standing wide open!

At one point in time I was certain there were 4 dwellers in that apartment. Now, I am not so sure. I believe the mother-figure has left. A car that was parked in the lot quite regularly has not been in its place for several weeks now. The 6 or 7 year old is still there. As is the father-figure and the young woman.

I digress. There is more evidence of the move toward ghetto besides the car horn, the stoop signaling, the radio ruckus, and the door being ajar. Saturday evening, there was a loud argument. From what I could tell, it was a multi-lingual high-decibel discussion. Not long after it started, the cries of the little girl were tossed into the mix. While I had been able to laugh off most of the other events, this one saddened me. The poor baby.

On Halloween she spent a good thirty minutes skipping up and down the landing singing that she was ready to go trick-or-treating. It did not take her long to discover Aslan sitting in the window watching her. She paused to talk to him and rub him through the screen. He responded as he always does: with purrs and encouragement. When her parents (?) stepped out to begin the evening's festivities, the girl excitedly talked about the cat, mixing English and Spanish. Her father (?) scolded her. I am not certain if he scolded her for playing with the cat or 'invading' my privacy. I did not mind the fact that she'd discovered Aslan. I enjoyed hearing her take delight in him.

And today in building 580, a new Hispanic family has moved in. There were at least 2 cars, possibly three, that were packed to the gills. And I declare there were six or 8 people. Hopefully they all aren't squeezing into that little apartment.

But it wouldn't surprise me. I moved into a ghetto!

While the events chronicled in this entry are true, this post was submitted for entertainment (and possibly humorous) purposes, only. I have absolutely no ill will toward the Hispanic community. I wish my son read this blog. He'd have a funny comment to make.