’Tis the season, eh? If you live in the West End you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. This is the time of year when your already-densely packed neighbourhood explodes into a full-flung summer resort. ’Tis is the season when events attracting thousands of people seemingly roll out constantly in the dear old West End. Mostly, it’s festive and fun. Mostly.
Think sporting events like the Vancouver Marathon, the Sun Run, and tennis tournaments. Think Car Free Day, the Pride Parade, and the Summer Cinema Series. Don’t forget the concerts at Malkin Bowl, and of course the big enchilada, the Symphony of Gunpowder (or whatever we’re calling the fireworks these days). Oh, and that ridiculous 4/20 smoke-in at Sunset Beach.
Exhaling all that at once, it’s a whole lot of events choking the West End, and you’d be half-baked to ever refer to Vancouver as “No Fun City” anymore. I can guarantee you that many thousands of people have many hours of fun at all of these events, and mostly I’m for it. Mostly.
However: it’s one thing for thousands of people to be partying and screaming and dancing when the event is actually happening. That’s great. It’s another thing entirely when some of those people are still partying and screaming and dancing hours after the event has ended. It’s a drunken reality that many West End residents are forced to deal with all summer long.
This brings me to my Summer of 2016 Public Service Announcement: when the movie/parade/marathon/fireworks ends, PLEASE LEAVE AND DO IT QUIETLY.
The complete ignorance of the leftover party animal in the West End never ceases to amaze me, since the guilty party seemingly has no clue that sound travels, and there are thousands upon thousands of people trying to sleep in apartments right above your babble.
When I lived on Beach Avenue, right in the thick of the summer festivities, I dealt with late-night party stragglers almost every night of the summer. Mostly in my boxer shorts, I broke up fights, stepped into domestic quarrels, urgently convinced screaming teenagers that they were about to miss the last bus to Coquitlam, and even witnessed an Old School-like co-ed streaker parade at 3am.
People would gather on the front lawn of our apartment building in the middle of the night, yakking it up as if they were on a downtown street corner at noon. One of the worst incidents was the night the Summer Cinema Series showed Pirates of the Caribbean. Hours after the movie ended, there was still some guy down on the street yelling at the top of his lungs in “pirate talk.” To make matters worse, each of his obscenity-laced phrases was repeated word-for-word by his Gilbert Gottfried sound-a-like buddy.
When I finally stormed down to confront the booze-soaked buccaneers, sure enough there was a dude dressed head to toe like a pirate, but his pal repeating every one of his filthy phrases? A genuine, living, feathered, loudmouth parrot sitting on his shoulder. I kid you not. I chased them away with a golf umbrella.
So look, by all means, come on down to the West End and have fun this summer. Just remember those huge buildings behind you aren’t empty. There’s an entire neighbourhood trying to sleep above you. Leave quietly, and leave the talking bird at home. Ahoy and thanks, matey!
