The Diaper Slinger

So, as if I didn’t have ENOUGH problems, someone who lives above or slightly above me (in the building beside mine) keeps slinging dirty diapers into my impeccably manicured Brooklyn yard.

Over the course of two summers, this dirty diaper slinger has become my own personal Moriarty, my constant reminder that, even as I write stories about heroes and villains on my patio, the actual story plays out in reality, writ larger.

It happens the same way every time. I hear the unmistakable sound of an overfull diaper land with a *splot* on my patio. I lunge from my chair, hoping for a glimpse of the culprit, and then my shoulders fall as I scan the opposing tenement windows, seeing nothing that would give me clues as to the monster who would do such a thing.

Of course, we’re both the heroes of the story as we’d like it told (Diaper Slinger as efficient eliminator of dirty diapers from the premises, me as persecuted, hard-boiled investigator of mysterious diapers flung onto my lawn).

Regardless, I think of myself as more of a hero because, as a result, the filthy diapers become my problem and not my adversary’s.

Today was different.

THIS time, the dirty diaper slinger made a critical mistake. S/he was (post diaper slinging) still pilfering through a sack of trash on his/her fire escape, and I caught him or her!

(I could only see their arms protruding from the window, thus their indeterminate gender.)

Now I know, if not the villain’s face, at least exactly where they live. It is apt. 2R of the building directly to the left of my own.

My mind began to boil. How do I make it clear that this behavior is unacceptable in the most cowardly, yet aggressive way (as is my style of dealing with confrontation)? Then, it came to me.

There’s also a place down the block that I frequently utilize for sending packages to clients and whatnot. They don’t ask for a name, an address, or any type of credentials (such is Brooklyn).

For some, receiving an unexpected package wrapped in cheery paper can be exciting. Perhaps it’s a late birthday or early holiday gift from a long forgotten uncle?

But, in this case, for the residents of 2R next door? This surprise package is going to be a terrible, stinky, bulging, lumpy, misshapen, repulsive reminder to NOT THROW DIAPERS IN MY YARD.

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