When I was 18, I lived in a 3 bedroom house in Brookman Street, Northbridge. Brookman Street was the most notorious residential street in the city, and Northbridge is where it all happens. Clubs, drugs, Asian gangs… and some rather nice restaurants. A colourful place.
I had some new housemates, after my previous housemates moved out under rather nasty circumstances.
I loved my new housemates, Troy and Michael.
Troy was an old school friend of mine, who had lived over the road from me for a couple of years during highschool. We got up to all kinds of hijinks together, but that was a few years gone by this time. Troy was into the Northbridge clubbing ’scene’. Still adorable in that ‘Troy’ way, but quite vain and into being seen and being ’scene’.
Michael was a sweetheart. He was quite effeminate, cute as hell, and never had a bad word to say about anyone, except when he did.
Troy and Michael were very different to me in many ways. I was a bit of a flower child in those days, but not at all unwise to the ways of the world. They were into clubbing, dance music and all that went along with that.
I’d left all my friends behind in Fremantle to move up to Perth (about a 40 minute drive or so). Perth was a very different scene to Freo, which had a much more laid back vibe. I hung out with my new housemates and their friends a lot because none of my friends had the means to get to me anymore without a long drive or an even longer public transport route. Troy and Michael’s friend’s loved me. I was like nobody they’d ever met. I surprised them and made them laugh, in a good way. Hmmm. I seem to have that effect on people… Maybe there’s another story (or 6) in that…
We had some good times.
One night, Troy, Michael and I were sitting around the kitchen table, examining a couple of very large marijuana plants that had been pulled up that day and given to us by a friend of Troy’s. Lovely big plants. Complete with roots and dirt, wrapped up in newspaper.
We had a little smoke and agreed that all was well in the world.
Quite suddenly, the dog started barking it’s head off.
We heard car doors, but didn’t think much of it. It was a one-way, inner city street, renowned for it’s bohemian inhabitants. At least two drug dealers lived in the street, so there was a lot of coming and going. No big deal.
We had another bong each, then started stripping the leaves and heads from the plants.
There was a knock at the door.
The dog was still barking, but I chose to ignore it, because it was a stupid dog. I say that with authority, because I’d lived with this particular dog for a couple of years by this stage and I was well qualified to say that Lettie the dog, was really quite dumb.
Troy thought he ought to investigate. The kitchen was at the rear of our little semi-detached house…
On the way to the front door, he placed the bong on top of the fridge next to the phone.
Michael and I sat in silence, straining our ears to hear what was going on. Troy was talking to someone.
I looked at Michael. He looked back at me, quizically. We waited and listened some more.
It wasn’t at all clear what was going on, but we figured it was just a neighbour or a friend. However, Troy was taking a while, and just in case, we placed a couple of sheets of newspaper over the rather large plants (with dirt, roots and leaves sticking out everywhere) on the table.
Troy reappeared. Behind him was a man. A man we’d never met nor seen before.
He introduced himself.
“Hi. I’m Senior Constable Mike Wilson. I’ve just caught a kid in a stolen car outside your house. Is it okay if I use your phone?”
Troy was standing with a fixed grin on his face. Michael and I tried in vain to lean over the evidence. The evidence that he would have to be legally blind to miss. It was a large table.
We didn’t do a good job of covering up. Not at all.
We were shitting ourselves, collectively. All the time, Troy was grounded to the spot with a look on his face of sheer, grinning horror.
The cop wanted to use the phone. The phone was mounted on the wall right next to the fridge.
On top of the fridge, right on the edge closest to him was that dirty old bong.
Michael stared at the sink, anywhere but where the blinding evidence was…
Senior Constable Mike Wilson called in for backup, or whatever the hell he needed our phone for. I don’t think any of us were listening. His partner was outside with the car theif in cuffs on the ground.
Thinking back, I’m not sure why they needed to use our phone… Don’t even “plain car” cops have a CB radio or something of the like?
The bong was at head height, about 4 inches from his face. He was standing directly in front of the table overflowing with fresh cannabis debris. The newspaper covering it was levitating.
It was a long few minutes. One of the longest few minutes of our lives, to that point.
Eventually Senior Constable Mike Wilson hung up the phone.
He thanked us, kindly.
And left.
He left.
HE LEFT.
We stared at each other, wide eyed. Followed by a collective chorus of “FUUUUUCKKK!!!!”
Followed by much laughter. Disbelieving laughter.
We’d got away with it.
Of all people to walk into our house at that moment, it was a cop wanting to use the phone.
I guess he had bigger fish to fry, so to speak.
I think I underestimated that dog…
Song Of The Day – Iggy Pop – Bored
