It started with eggs. That Light Bulb Supply building looks so close, yet my meager arm could not reach it when extended with a projectile egg. Hurl after hurl my throws fell short and what I once thought was a strong outfield arm was proved worthless until finally,
Whap!
I got it. It wasn't really difficult at all. It was more about getting the right angle rather than having a strong arm. From the apartment, which is located two stories above the building, the distance appeared much shorter than its true distance. Which an adjustment of trajectory the building proved to be an easy target, yet there was still satisfaction in watching the egg leave my hand at just the right curve and find it's way to the side of the building, exploding its fragments throughout the parking lot that lay below.
It wasn't long before a hobby was created. After visitors followed their folly into our liquor cabinets, the carton of eggs would appear and each individual would take their turn at hurling eggs at the building's walls or other targets that were in plain view and not privately owned. No cars were ever hit and no people were ever threatened. It was pure fun. One person hit the building on their first try and hit it about as often as I could after several turns at it. Besides this person I was the only successful throwing arm that ever stepped into this apartment. I take some pride in that. I am a success. I can successfully hit a building, a reasonable distance away, with an egg… from my apartment balcony. Who wouldn't take some pride in that?
I'm not sure how it mutated, but I'm pretty sure there was some rum involved. Before long eggs proved to be just one of the many items that are now tossed from our balcony. Apples, pineapples, oranges, beef for stew, ground beef, apples, yogurts, bananas, Grey Goose bottles, wine bottles, avocados, coconuts, yams… pretty much anything we find in our fridge that is past its expiration date gets a toss off the balcony these days.
"I'm surprised we haven't been kicked out yet", I told my roommate last week. "I think it's only a matter of time but how would they prove it you know?"
The proof they needed came two days ago when we had a couple of people over and decided to push our luck. I had decided not to drink because my stomach was feeling ill but this didn't keep my roommate, my girlfriend or her friend from getting tight. When the rum started to flow through their veins and a release was needed we turned to our most accessible and effective form, the balcony toss.
Systematically choosing the right items in the our fridge I started by throwing an orange and dropping a piece of bacon on the Mercedes owned by the cocky ass that always parks in the fifteen minute parking area. That'll show him! Shortly after I went back into the apartment to grab some more items only to be dismayed by a white SUV that remained parked just outside the apartment. I knew it was bad news but I threw it anyway. She didn't seem to notice but I didn't want to press my luck and I returned to the safety of the apartment. Every rotten item that was once in the fridge stayed on the countertops and I enjoyed a vanilla porter that no one but myself enjoys. The beer swelled those two hanging body parts that I protect like they're my children and pretty soon I was ducking behind our flag in hopes of extending my arm just far enough to reach the building yet not be noticed by the SUV in front. While waiting, my girlfriend came out with her arms full of projectiles and ducking low with myself as to not be seen.
Before I could throw my item, she dropped a bucket of yogurt on the sidewalk, barely missing the Mercedes whose tires I'd like to slash. I looked directly to the SUV and could see that we had been seen. She pointed directly at our balcony and kept watch. We remained ducked with the door closed. I thought her attention would soon sway elsewhere or they would take off towards their destination but I was wrong. I could see her dial her phone and talk with passion as her eye remained on our balcony. It was time to leave.
My girlfriend and I snuck back inside and I announced to the rest of our guests that we were leaving, heading to my favorite bar in this city, on Colfax and York. Everyone, excluding myself, took numerous shots and we were on our way with me at the helm. As we drove around the building towards the bar with bathrooms in the vault, we looked at the SUV. There were now three people, one of which being a security guard, crowded outside, speaking to the SUV owners and inhabitants with their attentions turned towards our apartment. They were after us. But what could they do now? We were cautious. We knew we were watched. And we were now on the lamb.
Though the crimes were minor, we all felt like outlaws; outlaws that had outsmarted the authority; outlaws that would eat, sleep and live another day in the cove of our choice. That night our drinks were inspired by victory and we were untouchable.; on top of a small world where small crimes and victories seemed epic.
I noticed the pirate flag reflecting in my back window as I carefully watched the police officer change lanes and speed past us on our ride home. And I can't explain how appropriate it was for my girlfriend to shout ludicrous statements at the people we passed on the street or for our friend to puke on the car of the person who parks in the handicapped spot. And I'm pretty sure that we started the fight with the cars full of people parked just outside our balcony with the girl puking off to the side. She screamed for us to, "come get some you fucking pirates" and my friend told her to wait right there as he headed down there with a cone over his shoulder. As the cars pulled away, I held my girlfriend in my arm and watched as the pirate flag waved in the wind.
