A little while ago, I alluded to the fact that I’m no good at crime. Remember the time I nearly got busted whilst doing a bush poo?! Luckily, not by the police! (Check out – “My bowels are ruined by pregnancy”).
Bottom line is… I’m a terrible criminal. Not that I’ve actively tried to be better. But every time in my life that I’ve done something wrong or illegal, I’ve been caught for it. Immediately. Like the universe is very clearly telling me…
“Don’t go down this path. It’s not going to end well for you”.
Here’s my wrap sheet.
As a teenager, we moved to a new area, living in a housing commission house and in a neighbourhood with a mix of characters. Many of the kids grew up in poor homes, some with family violence and there was a lot of drinking, smoking weed and juvenile crime. No one had any money. I made friends with a few girls older than me.
When I was 13, I went shoplifting with one of them. I’d hung out before and seen them steal things, but never done it myself. I decided on this day to try taking a Lip Smacker lip gloss. I grabbed it, slipped it up my long sleeve, casually sliding it into my jeans pocket, as I’d seen the other girls do. I checked around me, there was just an older lady nearby. Turns out she was an undercover shopper, as they’re called. She had seen my shoplifting and as we went to leave the store, there she was, standing next to a security guard. They escorted us back through the store – if there was ever truly a ‘walk of shame’ this was it – out through the back doors and into the big industrial offices at the rear of Coles supermarket. The police were called and waiting for them to arrive felt like an eternity. They separated the two of us, so that we couldn’t collude stories, I guess. It was terrifying. The feeling of dread and remorse I felt was immense. We were both charged with shoplifting. We went to court, 3 weeks later. I was reprimanded. Let off with a warning. This was the first crime I’d ever committed.
Some six months later, my older friends and I (same friends) decided to go out to see a movie at night time. We missed the last train home, and so we called a taxi to get the 20 mins drive home. None of our parents were coming to get us. I can’t recall if we even tried to call any of them. The taxi fare was about $40, there was 4 of us. The girls told me to jump in the front seat, so I did, being the youngest. The others sat in the back. When we got near our neighbourhood, we came into the housing estate nearby ours. There was bushland connecting the two estates through which we often took shortcuts. I thought it was so weird that we pulled up there, two streets away, rather than just out the front of one of our houses. When the girls told the taxi driver to stop, I was so confused. The other girls ran out, yelling back at me, to “fucking hurry up!” Finally, it made sense, “Oh, we’re not going to pay! We were never going to pay. Shit!”. I was so naïve! I went to jump out, but the taxi driver grabbed my handbag strap that was slung over my shoulder. I asked him if we could just drive over to the next street, to my house, and I would go inside and ask for the money from my Mum. He has livid! “Too late for that!” he shouted, “the cops are already on their way!” They arrived after the longest 20 mins in history! I felt so stupid for agreeing to sit in the front seat! So stupid for thinking I could get away with anything. I went to court for fare evasion. Again, I was reprimanded. The judge and solicitor made me write a letter, agreeing to no more bad behaviour. I was 14 by this stage. They warned me that if I were to show up in court again, for anything, I would be charged and that the charge would forever show up on my criminal record, influencing the types of jobs I’d be able to get once I was an adult. That scared the hell out of me… some decisions have lasting consequences!! I paid back my share of the money owing for the fare. I didn’t do any more crime after that through my youth and I was a little more street smart.
I was all good until I started driving. When I was 19, I got my licence. I was so excited, cruising the streets of Wynnum, music blaring, windows down, hair blowing around wildly. One day the police pulled me over, down by the waterfront on one of my “Beach Front Cruises” a.k.a. “BFC laps”.
“Oh no, what did I do?” I asked the police officer.
“Nothing. This is a roadside breath test. Have you done one of these before?” He asked me.
“No, officer. I’ve only had my licence for 2 weeks” I replied, ever obliging and polite.
“Have you had any alcohol to drink today?” he asked.
“No, none”, I responded with confidence.
“All you need to do is blow into this straw for 5 seconds until you hear the beep”
Ok that seems easy enough, I thought to myself, as I put my lips to the mouthpiece and started sucking on it… like I was drinking from a straw.
“What are you doing !?” The police officer said, frustratedly. “You are supposed to blow into the straw, not suck on it”.
“Oh? Of course!” and with that revelation, I started to get the giggles. Hysterical laughter hit me. Because it was one of those situations where I really shouldn’t laugh, it made it all the more funny. Have you ever tried to blow up a balloon or blow a whistle when you can’t stop laughing? It was like that. Nearly impossible. Everytime I went to blow into the straw, I’d start giggling again and I couldn’t get enough air, or keep a straight face for long enough to hear the beep.
This went on for a few minutes, by which time the police officer was now angry and warned me…“If you’re refusing to take a breath test, we will be taking you to the police station for charging”.
I composed myself. “Oh no, Officer. I’m not refusing. I swear. I’m so sorry, I’ve just got the giggles”. I give myself a stern pep talk to get my shit together!
Ok, I took a deep breath in and exhaled, 1, 2, 3, into the device. Beep. Click.
Sample taken and it registered all zeros.
“What!? How!?” The officer looked baffled. “I don’t understand?”
“Oh no, like I said. I haven’t been drinking. I just got confused and then couldn’t stop laughing. Sorry. Thanks. All good, then?”. I say with a sweet smile. I was free to go. He must have thought I was high as a kite!
Another few months passed and I was sitting at the railway crossing, waiting for the train to pass. There are a lot of railway crossings in Wynnum, and this particular time I got impatient with waiting and took off across the tracks before the red light had stopped flashing. Low and behold, the police were on the opposite side of the tracks. I got a $330 ticket for that stupid impatience! Another time, I only stopped at a stop sign for 1 second, instead of the required 3 seconds – BAM! Busted! Then, sitting in traffic on my way home from work, I decided to send a text message to my roommates letting them know that I was running late. When I heard a knock at the passenger side window. A cop on a motorbike had seen me send the text – $450 and 3 demerit points! Plus, the humiliation of being booked by a coppa in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Coronation Avenue, Brisbane. I had quite a few expensive learning moments like this during my twenties.
It’s not like I deliberately tried to do criminal things. More often it was just a lapse in judgement or poor decision-making. I also think that my face tends to betray me. I’m a fairly honest person, so I’m sure when I try to hide things I just exude guiltiness. Case in point…
On a flight home from Seattle to L.A., having left Vancouver that morning, I’d decided to squirrel away a few snack apples from the breakfast buffet at the hotel. Going through United States of America Airport security screening is intimidating! Every single guard looks like John Cena on steroids but without the sense of humour. They’re fucking serious about their jobs and the safety of their country! The burly customs officer checking my passport asks me where I’m headed and the purpose of my travel… the usual interrogation. He follows up by asking “Are you carrying any dangerous goods, Maam?”
“No officer”, I say truthfully, feeling like my life is on the line and my stomach has somehow relocated and lodged into my throat.
“Do, you have any apples in your bag?” he queries, while looking straight into my soul.
What the actual fuck! I’m thinking, Like, HOW!? Do apples show up on X-ray?
“Umm yes, I do have apples” I blurt. I’m terrified. I was not expecting this. I start babbling “Here, take the apples. They were from the breakfast buffet! I didn’t steal them, I swear. They were complimentary! They’re yours”
The customs officer takes one look at the sticker on the apples, and proclaims that ‘It’s fine, Maam, these are American apples, you can keep them”.
Phew, that was a close one! I honestly thought I was headed for a cavity search!
So, now that you know I’m a terrible criminal. I think it’s only fair to let you know that I’m also a terrible accomplice.
Age 27-ish, Hubby and I were in San Francisco on holidays and he really wanted to get himself another copper mug from one of the bars there, as a souvenir. He’d got one at a rugby trip years ago, and they no longer sold them, but he really wanted another for his collection. He had the whole thing planned out, and gave me the brief. He would order the drinks, we would drink there at the bar, then he would finish his drink and return the copper mug while I was still drinking mine, we would move to another area of the bar, ordering more drinks. Hubby would put the mug up under his jacket. Once we were finished our second round of drinks, it was time to leave. The plan was all going ahead without a hitch. Until… we were standing outside the bar, awaiting our taxi. Hubby asked me to hold onto the mug through his jacket for a second, so he could grab his wallet. I didn’t understand what he meant by this, forgetting that it was concealed underneath and inside of his jacket. As I went to hold it, I didn’t grasp the mug properly and it fell to the pavement with the loudest CLANGS as it bounced along the ground, finally rolling into the gutter! Oh no, we’re done for!! Thank goodness, no one was around. I started legging it, running across the street. Hubby grabbed the mug! The taxi pulled up, like a getaway vehicle, at least 5 minutes later. I felt like I’d just finished robbing a bank!
Short story, long… I’m a terrible criminal AND a terrible accomplice. So, there you have it. Please do not consider me to assist with your heists or other felonies. If I’m there, you will get caught. Actually, no, I’ll get caught. Luckily, I’m a good human to make up for my shitty criminal-ness. If you care to share your stories of failed crimes or getting busted, please do so. I’d love to hear from you.
Take care and much love,
MumOf3WRs