Halloween Preparations

Halloween is coming once again, just like it does every year. I love religious holidays like Halloween, Samhain, Satan Appreciation Month, and Mutant Zombies Will Walk The Earth Day (I'm still getting those last two pushed through congress - wish me luck). This will be my first Halloween at the new place, which means it will be the first time I've had trick-or-treaters since 1997. I'm assuming the same rules are in effect - pay out and the hooligans won't deface my property, no razor blades in apples (fruit - what kind of sick, twisted joke of a treat is that), chocolate peanut butter cups rule, Mary Jane's PB kisses and Pixie Stix suck. Well, any kiddies wandering my way are in luck - I'm going to have nothing but prime treats, and tons of them. My apartment complex has over six hundred units, and if the neighboring apartments join in, I could be busy. I'm preparing for a huge turnout, which probably means I'll be spending the rest of the year handing out candy bars to the few people I don't hate.

I wonder how the kids will be in this new place and time. The last time I had Halloween visitors was when I lived in Birmingham in a crime-ridden neighborhood. The children were okay at first, but grew more hostile with each passing year; in fact, they made me want to stop passing out candy and switch to hot lead. Most didn't bother with a costume (one kid put cold cream on his upper lip to simulate a milk mustache), and they just demanded what was due to them instead of shouting "Trick or treat." I remember Milk Mustache because he greeted me by demanding to know why I hadn't turned on my candy light, whatever the hell that is. He also got in line three times, thinking he was fooling me, then complained to the adults that I gave the others Tootsie Rolls but cheated him. One woman demanded to know why I didn't give Milk Mustache his due; I assured her that I had no Tootsie Rolls. She turned and walked away without comment.

Speaking of the adults, it's no wonder the kids were so rotten. In addition to not providing any guidance for their behavior, they set a lousy example. Most arrived with armloads of bags, hastily explaining that they each had five sick children at home and so they had to collect for them up as well.

Just when I was thinking about buying a pet wolverine for next year's reception, two of my last customers for the evening turned out to be a nice man with his little girl dressed as a ballerina. She was so cute, and both were extremely polite. I gave the girl a pile of chocolate roughly twice the side of her head. I hope she didn't develop a hernia lugging it home. Since then, whenever I ask myself why I'm spending my time and/or money to benefit other people's rotten little snot-nosed brats, I say to myself "Do it for the ballerina."

Boo, out