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By Maura Madden
Halloween in New York City is just like any other day in New York City - the streets are full of lunatics in wild clothes and most people are trying their best to scare the shit out of you. Like anything else in New York, Halloween is a battle. You have no choice, you have to fight, and you've got little chance of winning.
New Yorkers are divided in their response to this holiday assault. Half of the city seems to favor the "if you can't beat them, join them" school of thought, rushing home after work to get into costume. The other half rushes home, too. But they double lock the door behind them, pop in a video, turn off most of their lights and try not to call attention to themselves. If trick-or-treaters ring the doorbell, they pretend they're not at home. Some might think that this is strange, but the New York Halloween Lockdown is not done without good reason. Let me give you an example. A friend of mine works in a small office in an apartment building and was there, working, when a trick-or-treater arrived. No one had thought to buy any candy, but my friend opened the door anyway. Big mistake. If you do not have candy, you do not open the door. It's just that simple, folks. But my friend opened the door and apologized sweetly for not having treats and complimented the child's costume. And without blinking an eye, the young-yet-already-angry-New-Yorker told my friend, "You suck!" Stunned, my friend racked her brain for the appropriate response. She had no way of processing the aggressive nature of this statement. This is not the way children act in movies. Or maybe it is, but it's the punch line, and no one expects a costumed punch line to arrive at your own front door. So she sorted through her catalog of appropriate response, settled on, "No, you suck!" and slammed the door in his angry little face.
But children don't just trick-or-treat at residences, so you're really not safe anywhere. In Brooklyn, they hit bodegas and restaurants and even supermarkets and ask very loudly for their sugary bounty. And they get it. Even if they're not wearing a costume they get it. Even if they're really mean they get it. Actually, when they're really mean, they might get even more. And they don't stop at storefronts. They'll come up to random people on the street and ask for candy, just in case you're on your way home with a big old bag of it hidden in your purse or briefcase.
The adults that brave the streets are out and ready to party. They're drinking like it's New Year's Eve and puking like it's St. Patrick's Day. They're all dolled up - a million girls dressed like prostitutes or Catholic schoolgirls or French maids or sexy nurses. Which all boils down to the same base costumes - fishnets and a short skirt. Most guys prefer to go ugly, ape-y, hairy, scary and angry. Killers and zombies and current presidents are popular favorites for many men.
Sure, in New York there are many original minds. My roommate told me about two people dressed up like the Coney Island Cyclone. But all I really saw was a lot of drag queens and people baring the best of their flesh. Which is risky, given the high level of commentary afforded by the thugs who line the Village streets looking for people to make fun of. As my friends and I passed one group, a guy turned to his friends and said, "Damn, that guy has a small-ass head!"
My friend was not wearing a small-ass head costume, and I don't think he appreciated the comment. But I'm not going to lie - I did. My friend had been a pain in the ass all night - walking around like he was bored out of his mind, barely speaking, except for an occasional sneering remark here and their. He had been acting too cool for school, his head pumped up with attitude and aloofness. And that's the beauty of New York - it doesn't let you get too cocky. Just when you think you're better than it, it cuts you down to size _ small-ass head size.
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