It's a Good Thing I Left my Crack at Home

A few weeks ago after a meal Downtown, Blake and I decided to have an after-dinner drink, and we ended up at the typical Australian Pub. Oddly, this type of establishment never actually contains the word "pub" in the name, and is almost always called a "hotel". Granted, most of these pubs do offer rooms on the upper floors, but not all of them. If you were searching the yellow pages, or more likely the internet, this could be quite confusing; however, there is no mistaking one of these "hotels" when you pass them on the street. Almost always located on a corner, they are characterized by their victorian-style, second-level porches with ornate iron railing. If there is no porch, you will find outdoor seating on the ground level sheltered by an awning that is distinctly Australian. Accurately described by Bill Bryson, these awnings resemble a hat brim; they are unmistakably Australian, and you will find them on nearly every commercial building in Australia. Collectively, and much to the chagrin of umbrella salesmen across the nation, these awnings provide entire streets with sheltered walkways. Not that it rains that often here, but it certainly makes it more bearable when it does. Take notes Seattle.

So anyway, we were sitting in the typical Australian pub on a Friday night. Going by the sound of the karaoke it must have been 3 am, however, my watch read 9:00. Blake was in the bathroom when about 6 police officers and a drug dog entered the bar. Most of the officers either guarded the exits or stood off to the side in case they were needed. The dog was led by a policewoman, although I'm fairly certain she was actually an evil villain from a James Bond movie disguised as an officer. She seemed more likely to be struck by lighting in a tunnel than to crack a smile. This was a serious woman. She efficiently worked her way around the bar abruptly tapping peoples bags, purses and pockets (including mine) with a long wand. The dog sniffed whatever she tapped, and I can only imagine the drama that unfolds when drugs are found. I'm picturing a scene out of Cops; maybe an intoxicated overweight bearded man yelling up from the floor that he's never seen that bag before, despite its location in his pocket. Unfortunately, we were surrounded by upstanding citizens, and without a word the crew of officers dissapeared as quickly as they had come in. Completely shocked by what had just happened, and having nobody to discuss it with, I jumped up and walked over to the adjacent table and asked two guys, "Do they do that all the time here?" Looking a bit confused, they responded with, "I don't know mate, we're from New Zealand." I later learned that these type of searches are a fairly common police practice in Downtown Sydney, although, we have only seen it once.