Home > Uncategorized > If only it were this quiet every Saturday.

If only it were this quiet every Saturday.

I was sitting out on my porch and noticed how uncharacteristically quiet it was for a Saturday, let alone this particular Saturday.

As much as you’ll hear college students in this town complain about the locals, none of them – not even the hopeless drunks passed out on Fulton and Fourth – can even hold a candle to the destructive nature of the students in and around 15th Street. A lot of them wouldn’t care to hear that, since they like to think of themselves as individuals of higher intelligence, character, and understanding who are thrown into this strange world of Troy and forced to exist amongst urban decay and dangers otherwise unknown to them.

It’s a nice little fantasy, but just that – a fantasy. The dangers exist of course, just as they do elsewhere, but God forbid the chaos created by out-of-control underage kids be acknowledged.

The truth of the matter is that this neighborhood on Sunday mornings (and on Monday mornings of a three-day holiday weekend for the students) resembles a warzone. Cups, broken bottles, mangled property, debris – it’s all there, the remnants of a good time had by some that caused a great hardship and inconvenience for others.

Mothers try to get their children back to sleep, men and women working weekend shifts to afford to live in places they never thought they’d end up in can’t get sleep after a particularly laborious shift, the retired and elderly double-check to make sure their doors are locked because they’re not sure if it’s just drunk college kids having a good time or if there might be some immediate danger looming outside. Of course they’re overreacting – it’s just Tech students carrying on after all – but they’ve seen enough in their lifetime not to know the difference.

Meanwhile, in the ad-hoc frat houses that litter the hillside neighborhood, the disruptors imbibe in spirits. Some young girl’s having her first drinking experience and as a result is saying something she’ll have to take back at some point during the week. Two guys are talking tough in a manner that only guys from affluent all-white neighborhoods would think of as talking tough. Somebody’s breaking up a fight outside over some nonsense and hoping that this won’t be the third consecutive weekend that the police arrive to tell everybody to go home and issue a citation (the last time they blocked off the whole street in doing so – rock and roll). And in the midst of all the checaunery, the students discuss how it’s better than going to a bar in downtown Troy that sees far less police presence, far less noise, and far less violence. After all, those place are littered with those creepy Troylets.

Yet on this Saturday – the Saturday before a Wednesday Halloween which means it’s the unofficial night of celebration for the holiday – there isn’t a sound to be heard on the street. Nobody stumbling to or from the townie bar on 15th and making as much nonsensical noise as possible, nobody lighting a fire one block down on 14th because that’s what they think you’re supposed to do when you’re drunk, no guy fucked up out of his mind practically carrying an even drunker girl who’s barely on the brink of consciousness, no wild party two doors down from the apartment that houses friends of mine with their newborn daughter.

Not a damn thing, not a damn word. It’s wonderful.

I’d like to thank the select Rensselaer students that should normally be embarrassed of themselves for finally, at long last, doing something that goes in line with the undeserved air of superiority they carry around them (or perhaps more aptly not doing the things that prove the pedestal they’re standing on doesn’t exist). If only respect for the neighborhood they live in and the other people you share this neighborhood with could be extended to every weekend. C’est la vie, kids will be kids, rather than the young adults they should eventually morph into. And, well, the night’s still young. It’s only 9:15pm, and they could just be wrapping up their pre-game festivities.

But for now, despite it being Amateur Night nearly everywhere else in the area and the presence of a moon so bright and full that you can see almost every crater and crevice even with the presence of severe light pollution, it’s quiet and I’m not as annoyed as I usually am at this point.

I’m off to watch Game 3 at the McLocks Mansion, and then when I get back I have a list of names to compile and a few letters to write that I should have written a long, long time ago. But that’s a story for another time (perhaps later this evening).

More later…

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  1. October 28, 2007 at 12:48 pm

    It was an odd night last night. I went to Mahars last night and it was utterly dead. So was Junior’s next door.

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