Things I Will Not Miss About My Janky-Ass Neighborhood

This morning, as I hauled my laundry to the shitty-ass laundromat down the street, I noticed what appeared to be a large-ass condom and a bloody wax-covered gardening glove at the foot of my stoop’s steps.

And the wrapper:

Upon closer inspection of a nearby wrapper, it appears that the condom in question is a female condom (never seen one, good to know how it looks, I guess), that, uhum, had been used in someone’s rectal cavity for some overnight banging. Banging that occurred, I would presume, about 20 feet from my big head obliviously snoring away on my extra big, fluffy pillows in my pristine white sheets.

I am so fucking sick of my janky-ass neighborhood.

You see, for two and half years, I have been living approximately one and half blocks east of Precious Brooklyn Central—Smith St. in Carroll Gardens. And while I have enjoyed the proximity of Precious Brooklyn and its smoothie colonics and excessively complicated and overpriced whiskey drinks served in faux speakeasies that play old-timey music and organic burritos (kidding, I don’t enjoy that shit at all), I can tell you this much—it’s bullshit. I have essentially been paying Carroll Gardens prices to live in the fucking PJs.

Now before you start thinking I’m all classist and racist and hating on humanity and all that shit, let me tell you something. I am about as fucking liberal as you can get and fully support social services. I don’t mind poor people. In fact, give me a room of folks who’ve pulled themselves up by their bootstraps any day over any privileged fuck who grew up in the upper middle class. Seriously, you ever been to a party where everyone has some boring-ass degree from some private school? Those people are The Worst.

I also enjoy a good working-class mechanic here and there.

Anyway, as a former poor person—and one who’s pretty much spent the majority of my life being A Poor—I’ve lived in some pretty questionable neighborhoods that no Brown or Bryn Mawr graduate would touch with a 90-foot-fucking pole covered with an extra-large female condom. I’ve lived in neighborhoods where the typical nightly gunshot is expected, public urination is as regular as the sun rising, and the crackheads screaming for “Cinderella! Cinderella!” at 4 a.m. is the typical for as long as I can remember. However, I am too old and make too much money to put up with this bullshit any longer.

That said, I am moving in less than a month—to a nice, grown-ass, adult apartment. I can’t wait. But before I go, I want to give a proper kiss-off to the old ’hood. Put your Banana Republic khakis on, folks, this is about as Republican as I’m gonna ever sound:

• Walking home from the train one day, I heard a mom tell her 3-year-old kid, who was screaming and crying and generally all-around acting like a tired 3-year-old child acts, to “shut the fuck up!” I will not miss this.
• I will not miss the assholes who let their dogs shit all over our street and never pick it up.
• I especially won’t miss the assholes who let their dogs shit on our street, do pick it up, but deposit the shit in OUR FUCKING RECYCLING CAN!
• I won’t miss the huge SUVs that park directly in front of my bedroom—and get fucking detailed on a Saturday afternoon for like two fucking hours, blasting rap music—while I am trying to take a nap.
• I won’t miss the hookers who fuck johns around the corner on those dead-end streets along the Gowanus Canal.
• I will not miss the Gowanus Canal.
• I won’t miss the fact that I look out the windows and see that all my neighbors have backyards that they rarely, if ever, use. The only folks on my block who use their backyard are the French couple down the street. What is wrong with you Americans? If you have a backyard, fucking use it! I will now have a backyard, too, at my new place, so suck it.
• I won’t miss the fact, that despite our efforts to clean up the trees in front of our house, people still chuck their garbage out their windows and pollute said trees little plots o’ land.
• I won’t miss the fact that we pulled a heroin syringe/needle out of said trees’ little plots o’ land.
• I won’t miss Crown Fried Chicken. I swear to God.
• I won’t miss the superlarge breed of super-rats that have apparently taken over our street, smoking crack and eating Crown Fried Chicken.

And so, with the appearance of the dirty, ass-fucking condom, I can officially declare that I am done with you, Douglass St. Go fuck yourself.

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4 Comments

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4 responses to “Things I Will Not Miss About My Janky-Ass Neighborhood

  1. Big Sister

    Wow… such anger. I think the used female condom would put me over the edge also.
    Good luck with your move!

  2. Brady

    I gotta say this — the gardening glove isn’t bloody. The palm has a sticky, red waxy substance on it to provide extra protection when doing manual labor, such as cutting tree limbs or picking up bricks. They are super cheap to buy and are also somewhat disposable — much like a female condom. I know this because I’m a bootstrapper.

    • Aye. Another friend also pointed out the red wax on the glove. Upon closer inspection, that is it. However, it still begs the question: Why a gardening glove?

  3. Jessica

    I had some similar feelings by the time I was ready to get the hell out of Oakland. Do I miss being awakened by people looting my recycling at 3 a.m. or smashing bottles in front of my house? Not at all. Happy moving!

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