Brisbane policemen: the rant…

I feel the need to vent. I wish to vent so much that I have come to a bar ON MY OWN, back in Brisbane’s happening West End in order to do so. I have already bent the ears of both the barman and a very nice drunken lesbian girl in Superman leggings and roller skates. I vented to her as I ordered my Fat Yak beer and she cocked her head and looked very sympathetic before skating off to the other side of the bar, away from me. I think maybe I bored her with my venting, but I feel a bit better anyway.

I’ve never really had a brush with the law before and therefore, I’ve never really had a reason to loathe it, but today…. ooh today I despise the law. I really do. I hate the police. Well, that’s a bit unfair, it’s only really one policeman I don’t like and I don’t even know his name. But OH, how I wish bad things upon him. I’m not really sure what…. he was just doing his job when he fined me $40 for jaywalking, and fair enough, he didn’t know I had the morning from HELL, running between the post office and the British Consulate because of my own frickin’ stupidity…… ooooh…. you know what, scrap that. Actually, he did. He did know that because I told him. Arrrgh. Now I hate him more. As he pulled out his pink and yellow book he asked why I was in such a hurry, so I told him I had just had the morning from HELL, running between the post office and the British Consulate because of my own frickin’ stupidity, and he fined me anyway. HE FINED ME ANYWAY.

CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? $40 for crossing a road. If I got fined every time I crossed a road when the lights were red, not only would I be in more debt than a third world country, I would never fucking get anywhere! I wouldn’t even be in Brisbane today! I’d still be waiting to cross some back street of Sydney, or Byron Bay, or Murwillumbah, where I was last week. If I’d waited the EXACT, right amount of time to cross every single road I’ve ever crossed in my life, I’d still be stuck in 2001, in New York City, somewhere on Broadway. Ooooh I am angry.

Today, that policeman cornered me just as I’d left the British Consulate, and after I’d just spent FOUR AND A HALF hours faffing around, trying to get a new passport. In fact, my morning, prior to receiving the unjust jaywalking fine went like this:

1)    Head to post office to pay for new passport. DENIED. Need additional form.

2)    Head to British Consulate to collect additional form and apply for emergency passport. DENIED. Need proof of reason for travel.

3)    Head to Internet café to print proof of need to travel in next 3 weeks.

4)    Head back to post office with correct form. Attempt to process new passport. DENIED. Need signed photos.

5)    Find Paul. Get Paul to sign back of photos to say I am indeed Becky Wicks.

6)    Head to post office with signed photos. Pay $288 for new passport.

7)    Head back to British Consulate with proof of new passport and proof of reason to travel. Pay additional $170 for emergency passport due to actual new passport taking up to 8 weeks to reach me. Leave with emergency passport.

8)    Cross road…..

9)    Get fined $40 by policeman at other side.

I was actually rather liking Brisbane when I woke up this morning and stepped out into the sunshine. Now,… hmmmm. I’m not so sure. Just who do they think they are, these Brisbane cops, charging people to cross the frickin’ roads? I mean….. it’s a road! It’s not even a nice road, at that. If you want to come with me to Western Australia, or somewhere between Alice Springs and Darwin I’d be happy to pay you to cross a beautiful sand-swept valley or the overgrown pathway of a vine-tangled national park…. But BRISBANE CITY CENTRE in full view of the Pig n Whistle pub?? Whatever.

Brisbane cops can go shove it. And so can the post office and the consulate. I shouldn’t have even left the West End this morning. I much prefer lesbians in roller skates. Even if they don’t talk to me.