Taking down the baddies
This morning has been a morning of crime-fighting. I have trussed myself up in my floral cape (AKA Kaftan I got for a steal from Sportsgirl) with my fearless hound and faithful sidekick and taken it upon myself to clean up the mean streets of suburban South Melbourne.
First, I should tell you the backstory to this adventure. Today is Alfie’s 2nd birthday, coincidentally, it is also Waitangi day in New Zealand – this is purely coincidental as Alfie really has little to say about race relations and land ownership in my homeland. Anyway, Alfie started the day with a sleep-in with his Mama – who was quite unaware that the Viking had got up, retrieved the baby and given her a bottle and made himself ten minutes late for his train while I dreamt that my bridesmaid dresses were actually school uniforms.
So it was a gentle start. Alfie was then treated to a birthday breakfast that looked like this:
Nutritional count: low. Doggy delciousness: high.
And then, because Alfie’s mournful eyes said “take me for a walk you lazy woman” I made a deal with him. It’s too hot to walk today, and I have already put clothes on that I don’t want to sweat profusely in, so the three of us got in the car and headed to a local park.
After getting the dog and the baby out of the car and settled in the grass we started playing a passionate game of catch. As I bent over to pick up the fruits of Alfie’s excitement and deposit them in a disgustingly full bin, I noticed a big truck parked next to the neighbouring school. It was a truck with a forklift thingo on the back for using when cutting down trees. There was one guy in the truck and he was sitting on the passenger side. Smoko – I thought.
And then the school bell rang and a bunch of kids came and sat right next to the fence, and the truck, and made a little circle.
my nose quivered, and I was taken back to many a party in a woolshed during my teens as I identified the sweet smell of marijuana. Mary Jane. Pot. Weed. (Insert other cool names that have been invented over the past 20 years and have yet to reach the circles I now move in).
Well, well, well I thought to myself – all the while throwing Alfie’s ball and reattaching Bubba’s sunhat.
And then my imagination got the better of me. What if this man was tempting these young innocents into a life of drug addiction? What if he was purposely getting them hooked so he could sell them into the sex trade? I’ve seen Taken.
I felt, as a mother and a concerned citizen (well not actually an Australian citizen but as a concerned legal resident) that I should do something. So after a little time had passed, the kids had gone back inside but the truck was still there, I packed my tribe up and made like I was leaving. But I didn’t! I parked in the carpark behind the tennis courts and rung the Fuzz! I reported the behaviour!
The lady on the other end of the phone sounded very satisfied with my descriptions and kind of implied with her tone of voice that I was now an integral part of the war on drugs. She took my name and address so I’m picking that my badge will be in this afternoon’s post.
I left before the police arrived, mainly because Alfie was happily slobbering litres all over the backseat and Bubba was making her ‘pushing’ face. And if this guy turned out to have mafia connections I didn’t want to get ‘made’ before I had a chance to say goodbye to the Viking.
As I drove off I felt a twinge of satisfaction, do-gooder, fun-killing, fully grown-up, satisfaction. And I wondered, does this make me a home-town hero or just a plain old busy-body?