The first time I was arrested..

Just a little ramble from back when i was a youngen on the road.. :)



The first time I was arrested was in Brisvegas back in 07.

I was living in a basement/garage kinda deal with a chronic druggie above me, he once was hospitalised for 3 nights due to pneumonia, came home, ate 15 grams of dope in hash cookie form (assumedly put some Vicks vapour rub on his chest) then coughed up his guts lying sideways across his bed.
He proceeded to excitedly call the hospital and earnestly inform them that they had their medical practise all wrong and that they should prescribe Vicks to all pneumonia patients, as it had just completely cure him of all ailments in minutes.

Anyway, that was the type of place it was, his best mate was a locksmith with a speed and heroin mixture of a habit who would show me his little toolkit everytime he came around.. (I was the badass who was heavy into Cruisers at this point, as they were 10 for 25 bucks at First Choice liquor.. so I can’t judge.)

So one day, after the woman I loved had just left me for the second time, I drove around totally confused and vaguely drifting through the Stafford Heights streets.. finally reaching home to be greeted by my housemate looking defeated on the upstairs balcony with a man in a suit, bleeding from the hand, with an extendable batton flicked out.
Housemate looked forlorn, suit man looked erratic.

Whatever, my heart was broken… nothing really stirred me.

I stepped out of the car and was immediately shouted at by suit man to ascend the stairs to the second level balcony, okay dude, its my house, I guess I’ll come in eh. (I thought in my best Queensladier accent)
Suit man was a DT. He pointed at a chair on the balcony with his fiercely frightened eyes for me to sit. He paced back and forth and anxiously spoke at intermittent intervals into his radio, ‘still at the house, another one has arrived, under control, no no, not the perp… no sign of the perp still.’

My housemate sat with his head bent down and just gave me the body language of a trampled seal, so I sat back and with my broken heart, numbing my interest in all things excitedly criminal for once, waited till all was explained to me.

So just 5 days before, my housemate had informed me that we were gonna have some young fella he knew crash at our place for a while… sure, whatever, the guy had a nice smile and wore no shirt or shoes around like me, he also seemed to have massive amounts of chocolate, so yeah cool, he can stay.
His 16 year old girlfriend followed him in tow everywhere the chocolate trail went and all was well to my eyes.
Turns out he had committed over 60 robberies around the northern suburbs of Brissy the previous few months and now was on the run from the holice.

When the 12 man strong swat team descended on our house that day, while I was crying into my lap in my car somewhere, they scattered around the perimeter like a well trained swat team does… guns drawn, german shepards on short leads.. and kicked in the backdoor of our house to be met with my silly housemate coming out that way with a bong in his had, under the false assumption we were being raided for drugs.
They pinned him and were distracted enough for our young chocolate trailing new houseguest to jump (shirtless and shoeless) out the 2nd story window to the yard and over the fence before the swat team had a chance to yell… ‘oh, wtf bruz!’

So here was my housemate and me, sitting here, feeling the full effects of Mr Shakey Detective, who was probably one of the reasons they had stuffed up the execution of the raid (hence being made to stay behind and guard us) while he swore and flicked blood off his cutup hand, presumably from the front gate struggle.. (our front gate had always been a struggle.)

The swat team returned empty handed and began to take their incompetence out on us with a barrage of questions that would have had me shaking if I hadn’t of spend enough nights to fill a book running from cops or lying to them around Seymour east during high school days.
Same old boring, ‘you’re gonna fuckin pay for harbouring a fugitive motherfuckers!!” kinda shit.

Eventually they searched the house to gather stolen gear of this kids suburban rampage, fucked with my gear downstairs (much to a bit of in each other’s faces), and housemate and I were busted for weed and paraphernalia.. they took some stuff, not others, coz you know they needed something to show.. but im sure the paperwork attached to taking all our gear wasn’t worth it.

I made a coffee and offered one to the DT who was being less of a cunt, but he declined saying “I don’t normally accept stimulants from perpetrators houses as a rule” which I thought was fuckin hilarious in the moment… and still do.

So I got charged with drug possession, got a ‘drug diversion’ date set (which is where you go and speak to a lovely person about your habits – mine of which included barely a gram a month – and they say ‘oh, that’s all! Wtf u doing here?’ … wrong place wrong time I guess, and then they send you on your way. My fella had just got back from Vietnam and had had a bird smash his windshield that morning, so we had more important things to chat about than boring old drugs.

Housemate got charged with drug possession for the 3rd time and intent to sell so he had to go down to the station to get booked and held.
So I was left to deal with an edgy team of pigs who’d fucked up and then finally left vowing to kick my door back in at random over the next fews days until the house hopping perp was found.
Yeah okay.
I put on a frenzal rhomb live DVD, but whata ya know, that wasn’t just a threat! And 6 cops literally kicked my back door in 2 hours later stomped around again threatening me ‘if he returns, you’ll be done as an accomplice!!’… this time, I told them to get the fuck out and proceeded to get in my car and leave the house to them if they wanted it next time… make ya own coffee ya pricks.

So whilst away from the house, I was waiting at a gas station when a driver started to reverse towards my car, even while leaning on my horn, he reversed straight into me.
Richard, (who I later nicknamed ‘Richkid’ due to him driving his parents fancy SVU and cheaply trying to dodge me until I went to his work in Sth Bris and threatened to just call his insurance, get his folks number and speak to them haha) apologised and wanted to deal with it off the books, of course was because he didn’t want his parents to see an insurance claim on their car.

So home I returned with no headlights late that night to go into my downstairs little concrete box and heard voices above me. The guys missus and his mates were upstairs talking about getting the window leaping escapee back around to the house from his hideout in his dads yard and to plan what to do next with his moves..
Haha oh kids, u gotta be joking.. I wanted to sleep in my own house, (not my car – which id been doing for months before hand in the Valley due to no cash and a love of live music) so I rang the local cops and asked to be put onto the task force who did the raids that day.
Of course no one knew what I was talking about at 1am (now after working in Fed Gov, I think was more to terrible administration than trying to screw me around).. I didn’t wanna rat on this kid, don’t get me wrong.. but fuck him coming back into my house and me being caught upstairs in the cops next little raid with me & a bunch of teenagers trying to convince them to get outta here for their own sake..

Couldn’t get onto DTs, the kids eventually left the house.

He turned himself in the next day and got sent to live with his father fulltime under his custody or something. My housemate had to go to court. I am paranoid now about being busted with weed every again, (as it means I cant go to certain places in the world with a conviction) – hence why I now shelf my grams and walk funny as festivals…

Life is fun on the road, the police force is like most public services, backwards and upside down and Brisbane… ill always love u for the stories you provide.