Hush, Baby

The entrance of the apartment complex held itself off the ground by a flight of concrete stairs and was fronted by a pretty row of evergreen shrubs. At night, it looked nice enough that I didn't bother to roll up my car windows before grabbing the pizza bag and 2 liter of Mountain Dew and heading inside. Once I'd climbed those concrete stairs, though, things deteriorated fast.

The delivery ticket noted that this order was to be delivered to apartment number 2. A set of buzzers, neatly numbered 1 to 16, lined up just to the right of the glass door. I pushed number two and waited a minute for the door to make some sort of noise (which could range from a high pitched squeal to a steady hum) indicating that I could enter. When nothing happened, I took stock of my surroundings. What appeared nice from the parking lot withered under closer scrutiny. The paint was chipped from the trim, random trash was strewn both outside and- from what I could see- inside the building. The “pretty row of evergreen shrubs” desperately needed water. I glanced back at my car apologetically. Then I grabbed the door handle and pulled hard, since so many of these secure ghetto buildings generally yield to a bit of force. I needn't have bothered with the force. The door opened right up.

Once inside, I headed strait down the stairs. Public housing usually numbers from the bottom up, so number two would be down there. The carpet in the foyer was dirty and the grit of uncleanliness clung about. However, when I opened the fire door that led to the downstairs hallway, I no longer needed the sense of sight to figure out I'd entered a shit hole.

I'd like to think that the occupants of apartments numbered 1 through 4 were just inattentive pet owners. But, my gut told me that I was smelling human urine and human fecal matter. I've spent time in dialysis rooms, old folk's homes, and hospitals. This smell had less in common with the sofa my family's cat sprayed down and more with those places. The sad part is that my sense of smell is mostly deadened. Not only have I been a smoker for well over a decade, I spent too much time in the chlorine room while working at a water park in my early twenties. When someone farts, I'm always the last one to smell it (unless I dealt it). This smell was pretty bad even for my crippled senses.

I found apartment number 2 and rapped smartly on the door. From within an infant cried steadily. Becoming a father has made me a connoisseur of sorts concerning the noises babies make when they're unhappy. This was definitely a newer baby. More than likely under two months. She (all unsexed infants are “shes” to me since I have a daughter) didn't have the lungs to really make a ruckus, and she also didn't have the cognitive insistence to her wails that comes around month 3 or 4. For the second time, I received no response from apartment number two. I knocked again. Harder. Still no response.

By this point, I was almost ready to barf. The smell was intensifying as I stood there. I sat down the two liter of Mountain Dew, pulled out my phone, and called the number on the delivery ticket. A polite female voice told me the number was not currently in service. Plans began forming. This order was paid for by credit card. I could just abandon it in front of the door, bail out, and when they called the store to complain I could tell them it was waiting for them outside their door. I could also just bail out, take the pizza, and tell them to get fucked when they called back to complain about how long the delivery had taken. I am the General Manager. Both paths seemed a bit harsh and rushed. But, honestly, I was finding it difficult to breath at this point. So, I abandoned tact and banged on the door really hard.

Thankfully, an older black woman with few teeth opened the door a moment later. I handed her the pizza, the two liter, and her ticket, smiled with genuine gratitude, then ran away. Usually, the customer needs to fill out the credit card slip. But, I figured I wasn't getting tipped anyway and I was damn lucky someone actually came to the door. Time to cut my losses and run. As I fled, I heard a soft, beautiful voice from inside the apartment saying, “Hush, baby. Hush, baby. Hush, baby.”