Day 57, Be Brave Project; Insinuating Myself, via Halloween

Since I returned to the States, Halloween has been one of my favorite holidays. First, it comes at the absolute best time of year, when one can wear both bulky sweaters and stilettos, when people are still friendly on the street and not dashing by in a huddled hurry in the freezing cold. Secondly, when I lived in England the English--though lovely people with a beautiful country and admirably evolved senses of humor, plus a social ferocity that keeps their politicians nice and tame--well, the English suck at Halloween. It's a Celtic holiday before we Americans grabbed and ran with it, and consequently has a whimsy that the Brits don't really get.

Back in the days when I was engaged to the Posh Bloke and living in his flat, I encountered many of the children of the privileged. They all understood that Halloween = Free Stuff, but didn't quite know how to go about it. If you saw a child in costume, it was a sure bet one of their parents had lived in the States. More usually, I would find myself in the somewhat Dickensian situation of finding myself suddenly surrounded by children who were holding out their bare, cold hands for food.

These children were also wearing Barbour jackets and $400 running shoes. And they thought they were Trick or Treating.

Tap on the shoulder. I'd turn. Five hands held out as they chirped "Trick or Treat!" "Do you think I walk around with my pockets filled with candy?" I asked. "No," one kid with Sideshow Bob hair explained patiently, "You just give me money."

Didn't happen. I told them where to get off and said that if they weren't wearing costumes and being paid in chocolate, their actions amounted to little more than extortion. Immediately their faces assumed expressions they'd seen in rap videos, and as I walked away I heard, "Fuckin' Septic."

That's Cockney rhyming slang, and is now now much beloved by the landed gentry: Apple and Pears = Stairs. Trouble and Strife = Wife. And Septic (Tank) = Yank. Slang for American. I turned around, walked back up to the kid--who did look frankly terrified--and laughed in his face.

But I still felt it was extortionate, and that these kids believed the world was going to rain money on them.

For the last 2 years I've gone upstate NY for Halloween in Sullivan County. My aunt has a house up there in a working class town where the majority of shops are closed up, and the bowling alley has closed down. More recently some people moved in to the area from NYC, and tried to establish posh antique and gift shops--which don't do very well. Times are tough, and a walnut veneer-front desk doesn't seem to be at the top of people's priorities. There's a lot of 80's hair and leaning on walls while smoking cigarettes--there's also beautiful countryside and gorgeous Victorian houses. It's a nice mix.

Anyway, the kids up there don't have money. But they still have a healthy respect for free candy and the people who give it to them, so they dress up properly for Halloween. Most of them make costumes at home (their mothers actually sew?!! See Picture above), or once they get older and cooler, they do a lot of scary gothic stuff with blood and lipstick and pillowcases. Remarkably effective. Last year more than 200 kids came to my Aunt's house--we gave away quality stuff: Mars bars and butterfingers and something called "Body Parts" which were severed fingers and ears made out of gummy jelly.

We were very popular, and the kids were so charming and happy just to walk around and see their friends and get their candy, that it sort of choked me up a bit. Felt like America can't be quite so fat and indifferent and spoiled if these kids are all so sweet. Very few of them seem to suffer from the personality loss that accompanies 'being cool'.

So I've devised a candy scheme here in my glorious Manhattan building, too. It is part of my nefarious and cunning plan to endear myself to the door people: I will present them with a pumpkin shaped box filled with candy to give to the kids in the building as they go by.

They might already have something set up, for all I know, but who's going to bitch about excess chocolate?? The door people need to stay awake and lively.

And I'm bringing out the big guns in my search for door-man respect: I'm giving out Snickers bars.

Yes, I am good.