Most of the time, the frat boys in the building next door annoy the hell out of me.
Sometimes it seems as if all they do is have keggers on weeknights, blow enough pot smoke around to create a sinister fog which blankets the entire west side of the city, and talk loudly about which girls they’d like to bang. I’ve contemplated mass murder more than once.
Usually when said kegger is raging the night before I have a super early call.
So yesterday, as I was coming home from a bike ride, and saw the one with the faux-hawk putting a gas grill outside by the trash, of course I assumed he was up to no good.
When I asked him what was up, he told me they’d gotten a bigger one and that this one still worked, but it wasn’t, well, new.
“Besides,” he said, “it’s dirty and none of us want to clean it ’cause that shit’s gross.”
An entire career spent pulling cable through unmentionable filth means that I’m not really afraid of dirt, so I took said grill off his hands and slowly, fearfully opened the lid to inspect the damage.
Maybe it’s the aforementioned career wallowing in filth, but the grill’s really not all that dirty. Nothing that some toxic chemicals and a good scrubbing won’t fix, but I’m a bit perplexed as to why they’d fill a gas grill with charcoal briquettes.
Is propane that expensive? I think not.
It’s a really nice grill and once I get it cleaned up and the gas line working, I can indulge in instant gratification – outdoor cooking without waiting on the charcoal to heat up.
Tomorrow, I scrub.