Let me follow up on Monday’s story about my crazy neighbour with yet another story from this past weekend.

A “resident” threw a raging party in my building that went awry.  A fifteen-year-old resident…

Friday night was pretty good, up until about 10:30pm…

I went to see Jerry Seinfeld with my family at the Sony Centre, and he was absolutely vintage!  Even better than he was 2-3 years ago when I saw him at Massey Hall.

We went out for a bite to eat at Jason George on Front Street, and after a couple of drinks, I thought, “Maybe I’ll go home and have a couple more.  Maybe tonight will be the night I’ll get a couple drinks in me and try to relax.”

Wow, was I ever wrong.  There would be no relaxing when I got home on Friday night…

My fiancée and I came home around 10:30pm, and we took the elevator up with two kids that looked like they were 13-14 years old, both quiet and staring at the floor.  They got off on the ninth floor with us, and followed us to our unit.  I turned around and said, “Are you looking for the party room?”  They nodded ‘yes,’ and I said, “It’s down the hall – the room that says “PARTY ROOM outside.”

That’s always bothered me about our floor.  There are only four condos on our floor, which also houses the party room, and although you’d think most people would see “902” and not think “party room,” we get a couple knocks on our door every month from people in search of the baby shower, anniversary, or birthday.

Over the course of the next half hour, all we heard was constant shouting from the hallway.  We often hear the odd voice from the hallway as guests in the party room get on and off the elevator, but this was different.  It was almost as if they were congregating in the hallway.

I went outside to check, and to my surprise, there were a dozen kids, all drinking booze in the hallway!  Tall-boys, king-cans, 40’s, and even a bottle of Red Label!

The kids saw me and scattered, so I returned to my unit just to digest what had happened.  I stood there confused for a little bit, and then finally turned around and went right back outside.  This time, however, I couldn’t help but notice something a bit……different.  There it was – right in front of me: a giant pile of puke.  On the carpet, right in front of the elevator, and ten feet from my door.

I did plan on having a few drinks on Friday night, so I was going to head back down to the parking garage to get some Gingerale out of my storage locker.  But upon the elevator door opening, I saw something even worse than the puke on the carpet in the hallway.  Try and picture this – the entire mirrored wall in the elevator was SPLATTERED with puke.  A giant projectile vomit covered the wall in a way that would make a professional painter proud.

I lost it.

I marched downstairs to find the concierge, but nobody was at the desk.

So I went back up to the 9th floor, used my FOB to access the party room, and went inside in search of answers.

Inside the party room I found two young girls – one sitting on the floor in the corner of the room hysterically crying, and another girl consoling her.  I immediately knew that this crying headcase had to be the ‘host,’ since most parties thrown by teenage girls end with the host crying on the floor.

I asked them, “Is this your party?”  The girl jumped up, red-faced, and said “Yes, Yes it’s my party.  I’m sorry!  I’m sorry, mister!”  Upon hearing “mister,” of course, I immediately turned around to see if there was a man standing behind me, but eventually I realized that she was talking to me.

Man, I’m old…

She was hysterical!  “I don’t care, I don’t care about anything!  I just wanna die!”

I said, “Well, you have a lot of options at your disposal, but let’s just figure out the situation at hand here…”

I asked her friend, “How old are you girls?”  She paused, and looked up, to the left, then down again.  I said, “I know you’re not 19, and I don’t care – just tell me: are you 15 or are you 16?”  She said, “We’re 16,” and I replied, “So then you’re really fifteen, aren’t you?”

They were fifteen.

My condo party room was invaded by twenty kids, all fifteen-years-old, drinking and smoking pot in the party room.

What an utter mess.

I tried to calm the girl down, and then I went out to the hallway to find a security guard, who looked equally as useless as he would prove to be in the end.  I told him, “You’d better go downstairs and make sure no more kids come up here tonight.”

My next-door neighbour came outside, and she was pissed.  She’s in her 60’s, and not nearly as patient as I was!

A few minutes later, the 15-year-old girl’s sister appeared with her boyfriend, and seeing as they were about 19-years-old, I was able to convey to them the gravity of the situation.  The floor and the elevator were covered in puke, the party room reeked like marijuana, there were empty bottles everywhere, and worst of all – we knew there was a ton of underage drinking going on.

Do I care about underage drinking?  Not really, no.  But in my condo, I do.  On my floor, in my home, I do.

I explained to the sister, “You have to make sure no more kids come here.  Promise me.”  She said, “Nobody else will, trust me.”

I said, “Come on – the way you kids are today, with your text messages and your Twitter – make sure the word gets out – no more kids!”

She assured me, nobody else would show.

As if on cue, about 1.8 seconds later, the elevator door went “DING,” and the door opened to reveal about 8-10 more kids, all looking like they were 14-16 years old, all holding bags of beer, liquor, and probably windshield washer fluid, for all I know.

They all stopped talking, and looked at me, then the girl, then me.  I said, “BYE!  BYE KIDS!  SEE YA LATER!  YOU KNOW HOW TO GET TO ‘G’ RIGHT?”  They split pretty quickly, which is how I know I look like an old dude to them.

I went downstairs to talk to the concierge and find out how all this happened, and I was utterly shocked by the results.

Wanting to know how the hell a 15-year-old girl was able to rent and gain access to the party room, he explained that she came downstairs on Thursday with $250 in cash and tried to book the party room “under her mom’s name.”  The concierge said that she needed to provide a cheque, and she promised to come back.

That was where his story ended.

I said to him, “Sooo….what happened during the 30-hour gap that you’re leaving unexplained?”

He just sat there with a blank look and offered little, if any explanation.  He said, “Well….I went on my dinner break….and….”

That was all I needed to hear.  He wanted to blame somebody else; anybody else, and nobody was going to accept responsibility for this.

I asked him, “Okay so let’s say this was somebody else’s fault, just for argument’s sake.  So let me ask you this: why didn’t you stop twenty 15-year-old kids from coming through the lobby tonight with open containers of beer?”

Again, the poor guy sat there with nothing to say.

I asked, “You have video cameras all over the building, right?  So why didn’t you do something when you saw kids smoking in the party room, puking in the elevators, and drinking in the hallways?”

Nothing.  No explanation.

I told the security guard to go put the elevator on service – an action which I thought was a foregone conclusion, and to my surprise, he said, “We can’t do that.  Not on a Friday night.”  I explained to him that the elevator was covered in puke, and that in the next three hours, likely forty or fifty residents were going to come home – home, to the place they live and love, and find a puke-filled elevator right before they retire for the night.  He eventually took my suggestion and put the elevator on service…

I returned upstairs to find the 15-year-old girl’s older sister, and her boyfriend, who had cleaned up the party room.

At likely 19-years-old, they were able to grasp the gravity of the situation, but that didn’t stop me from giving them about ten minutes of worldly advice.

I explained to the girl that her younger sister’s actions were going to cost a concierge and/or security guard his job.  I explained that in the real world, people have jobs, and they work at these jobs to make money to support their families, and pay their bills.  I explained to her that the actions of her stupid 15-year-old sister were going to severely alter the course of one or more person’s lives, and that this should be fully conveyed to the little brat.

The older sister was somewhat understanding, but I really don’t think any of those kids gives a good goddam today.

Even worse is that the parents probably chalked this up to “kids being kids,” and I’d be surprised if any discipline were handed down.

I’m going to stop short of ranting about “kids today” and the pathetic state of society’s youth, but I’m hoping that my words didn’t go unheard.  There was only one thing I tried to convey to the 15-year-old host before she ran away, and that was this: “What did you think was going to happen?”  I asked her repeatedly, and told her that no good was going to come of this night, and that it was always destined to end just like this.  There was no way that she was going to con her way into a party with her disrespectful, entitled, snotty friends, and that the event would go without incident.  This night would have ended this way, ten times out of ten.

I wrote a letter to property management and to the Board of Directors, making some suggestions for rule changes with respect to the party room.  I can’t belive that a security guard isn’t mandatory, no matter if there are 100 guests, or just one.

Time will tell whether or not things change, but the puke stain on the hall carpet remains.

Between my crazy neighbour three floors up, and this stupid 15-year-old girl and her friends, it certainly was an eventful weekend here in paradise…