Here’s the story of exuberance, ghouls and sensationalization.
It happens but only once a year. A wretched day of horror and misery, a day I absolutely loath. Yes, it was Halloween again, and for only the fourth time, I was left alone to face the wrath of the children.
The little kids are the first big nuisance. They hate me. I mean, most children do, but the ones around here are confrontatious and malevolent little sods. For example, in winter, they throw snowballs and iceballs at my bedroom window. For no apparent reason.
It’s not just children. Oh, no. You have teenage boys, too, with a look of mayhem in their eyes. Then you have the teenage girls. They’re very flirty and very scantily dressed. What they are trying to achieve is obvious, but because of their young age, I can only assume it’s an undercover police sting.
This is what Halloween is like for me. Miserable.
The obvious solution is not to answer the door. This advice should come with a hazard warning. Because if you don’t answer that door, remember this: they are armed. Toilet paper, flour-bombs, more flour to go through your letterbox, eggs, and there’s even the occasional young one with a bag full of fireworks. Don’t answer that door you could be saying goodbye to your house.
So I went on lockdown. I made a plan. One that ensured my survival for ignoring that doorbell. You can imagine, then, my fear, flowing richly through my veins. I suspected they wouldn’t attack the house if they thought I was out. The pieces of my plan started falling into place.
I put on my Mission Impossible hat and got to work.
I grabbed a cooler and a flask from the shed. I filled the cooler with food. I filled the flask with tea. I taped a bag to the letterbox in the front door to catch any flour, and placed a bin beneath it. I closed all the blinds and shut all the curtains. I switched off every light in the house except in my bedroom. With the curtains closed, you couldn’t see any light anyway. I put the house alarm on, to try to fool them. Finally, I said my prayers. Actually, the final thing I did was make sure I had a clean pair of pants.
At this point, for those of you doubting, I genuinely did all that.
The clock hit three in the afternoon, and so began my seven-hour marathon of survival and sensationalization.
I was left a tad disappointed. I went to all that effort and then the weather decided to turn to crap. So the house was fine and I only had five rings of the doorbell. The poor little children. Outside in the freezing rain with their little costumes on and a bag probably empty because of the terrible weather. Smiles on their faces. Memories they’ll treasure for a lifetime. I almost felt sorry for them, but then I remembered they are all complete bastards to me, and any guilt quickly evanesced.
I was always taught to forgive and forget in life. I think that’s important. It won’t get you anywhere, but inside, you’ll feel a certain sense of moral pride. But I think there’s a caveat to this way of thinking: there are only so many times one can take grief before the emotion of guilt is numbed into a huge nib of ignorance.
Do I regret my Halloween endeavour? No. Was it the right thing to do? Depends on your character. Will my parents kill me when they come back off holiday to discover I didn’t answer the door on Halloween as they said I had to? Almost certainly.
I’m looking forward to that.
“There is nothing funny about Halloween. This sarcastic festival reflects, rather, an infernal demand for revenge by children on the adult world”, said French sociologist, philosopher, cultural theorist, political commentator and photographer, Jean Baudrillard (1929-2007).
Peace Out :|:
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