So there was a bit of show down last Friday night. As is the case with most show downs, there were two sides.
The North American corner, consisting of E Meyers and J Purdy, trudging back home after a night of work and a cheap wine. Combined height of 11'4, weight 280lbs, quick on the feet and naive to a fault.
In the other corner, 15 'indigenous australians' aged 16-20. Combined height of 60ft+, 800lbs, underage, drunk and already scraping the dredges of societies underbelly, without much room for improvement.
As we climb on the bus, always a new surprise bundle of sketch bags waiting, we find to our delight tonight's attendants fill the back of the public bus, cursing, staggering, swigging and overall making everyone uncomfortable. Uncomfortable is a pretty loose term here, as we soon find out.
We get off at our stop, just like every other time, but guess who we share it with tonight? Of course! The drunken adolescent bastards in all their aboriginal glory. Emily, in her infinite American skepticism and wisdom, whispers 'Let's walk on the other side of the street'. Before that sentence was even out of her mouth, one of our small little competitors makes a grab for her purse, initiating a pretty intense tug of war, which, luckily she was able to win.
We all like to think we would react swiftly and bravely in these situations, and I'll be the first to admit I had no idea what was going on. Maybe he tripped? Or is playing a funny joke? Get real Josh. Emily took care of the most important part by hanging on to her bag, and after realizing he wasn't cashing in tonight, he let go. I certainly couldn't abide by just letting him run off, so we started what must have been a pretty funny looking cat and mouse chase. I almost had him in my grasp for a good 'down home' thumping, when I get a roundhouse to the head by his hefty comrade. The funny part is, I was till thinking he might be swinging for his friend and ready to apologize for all the trouble. What planet have I been living on? Aboriginal-less one, for certain.
So I cop a punch to the head, look around at the numbers, shake my head, and go to retrieve my fallen wine bottle and walk off. The fun doesn't stop here though folks! In our little chase, I've garnered quite a distance between Emily and myself and this is when the real brunt of this teen force comes out... the females! They give Emily chase saying 'Come hee sis', come hee', and, as is no surprise at this point, not to apologize. I yell 'Leave her alone!!'...probably adding a bit more stress to the situation, but I don't think I've ever seen Em run faster than this night. As the rest of the rag tag gang falls behind, there is only one girl left giving chase. I eventually catch up with this fleet of foot chick, throw her into a nearby car and ask her 'What the fuck are you doing this for?!' Still looking for an answer for there behaviour. Clearly I would be better off chatting it up to a pack of hyenas.
Em runs home, shouting and hyperventilating at the same time, and sends my Dutch roommate Roy out to join the fun. I'm on my way home now, as our little aboriginal friends pass our street onto what every primordial sludge of a night they have planned. Bolstered by a team mate, Roy and I turn foot and give chase. At first, with our heavy yells and truly threatening big kid voices, they run away from us as fast as they can. This is when I throw my wine bottle, already poured down most of my shirt, into their crowd. Luckily I didn't hit anyone, that would have been a much bloodier and probably tragic story.
Realizing there are only two in pursuit, they turn around and square off at us. I'm not sure what kind of military tactic it's called, but most likely an aboriginal one passed down through the generations. The girls stayed up front cursing us as 'white dogs' as they punch away with their tiny fists of fury while the guys stayed safely behind them. tossing rocks and whatever sticks they could find. No boomerangs, luckily.
Adrenaline pulsed and the rain came down, but it was over in two minutes, possibly less. I dialed 911, which is nowhere close to the proper number in Australia (000), but luckily there were already about three people with the same idea. The teen hyena pack get away just as the first and second squad cars rip up the street, blending in to the dark of night (just being poetic, not racist)
All in, there were no severe injuries or thefts, just another peg in the never ending sketchiness of our 'hood'. We went back, had a drink, and spent the rest of the night calming down. Well done Hilton House, another story to take with you wherever you go. The morale of the story? Depends who you ask...our landlord said 'take a cab mate'. The Australians said 'F'ing abos, they wonder why they have a bad name'. The cops said 'Ahh ya the little bastards, this happens all the time'
I'm thinking two things 'Fanny packs aren't all that bad' and 'Sometimes, in just the right circumstances, if you're getting robbed and punched and pummeled with rocks, it's okay to hit a girl'. Here's hoping there won't be a next time so I have to follow through.
Ciao!
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