image from http://www.takver.com
This is another true story, all the more peculiar because of the way it came about,of how I became involved in an incident with the police in busy rush hour in Roma Street, Brisbane. At the time I was working for the South East Queensland Electricity Board. At the end of each day there was a mass exodus for the train station on Roma Street. It was a case of first in, you might get a seat. If you were tardy then you most likely had to stand all the way home. Gentlemanly behavior went out the door with a suit and a newspaper!
I’d had a great lunch break, buying up big in the sales of large glass jars of moisturisers and cleansers and all those lovely things women are fond of (and the men too if they admit to it). There I was, the five o’clock rush already in full swing. My heavy shoulder bag full of carefully wrapped glass jars.
I was hurrying along in my beautiful high heels and short skirt – nice to be in the height of fashion, when I suddenly heard a strident cry – “STOP, POLICE!” This, the call to action for any police officer, anywhere, the Queensland Police Force was no exception.
That was enough to make me stop. A cry to arms no less! I could see nothing ahead of me except a sea of bodies, mainly male in their nice shiny suits, everyone hurrying for the train. I knew I wasn’t hearing things but I couldn’t see anything amiss. Suddenly the crowd ahead of me started to melt to each side like swiftly flowing syrup. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything like it before or since.
Ahead of me I could just make out the figure of a young man running hell for leather towards me, or at least in my direction. No-one wanted to know he was there. They didn’t want to acknowledge the three plain clothes police charging behind him. (To be fair I had to presume they were police after I’d heard the call).
Back in the day, dressed in the ‘height of fashion!
Thoughts tumbled through my head, ranging from outrage that all these burly suited loafers were going to pretend they couldn’t see what was happening and let this ‘perpetrator’ escape. (I suppose I could call him an unsub these days). Closely on the heels of this outrage was the thought that I had to do something to stop him getting away, followed by – OMG – my jars of cream! Drop the bag? No way, and smash all those jars. No-one would help me clean it up and then I’d have to explain what I’d been “up to”. (That was my husband’s favourite query when something odd happened).
OK, the only thing was to try to stop him. He was getting closer. Even though time appeared to have slowed down there was little time to make a decision and I was determined he wasn’t going to get away. But how to stop any attempt from breaking my precious packages?
Right, the time had come to stop pretending I was a superhero. I decided in some deep recesses of my brain, that if I dropped my shoulder, just so, as he tried to rush past I could knock him off stride, perhaps slow him enough to let the police chasing him to catch up.
Not really thinking any further than that, as he came up to me I took two quick steps to the side and dropped my right shoulder, being careful not to get my expensive jars broken!
It worked!! He ran into my shoulder, lost momentum, staggered off the footpath and the pursuing police caught him. Truthfully, it hurt a lot more than I expected but I was quite pleased with myself for stopping him when all those burly guys pretended they couldn’t see what was happening.
One of the detectives came over to get my name and make sure I was alright and then we parted ways as the handcuffs were slapped on the erstwhile runner. Yes, I made my train, late and stood up all the way home. There’s no justice for heroines.
image from http://www.facebook.com
An aside from this tale is how I became notorious for it. I was overheard telling my friend what had happened on the way home from work. She thought it would be a great story for the Public Relations team, of whom she was a member, as they were compiling the quarterly newsletter. No matter how hard I tried to play it down it was written up as “Receptionist Sue nabs Police runaway”. Ugh! I suppose it was payback for the leotard episode.
I didn’t hear what happened after that, the excitement was enough. It’s strange how you forget what the adrenaline rush does to you. It was also a reminder that some things never change – instincts and training stay with you a long time if they meant anything to you in the first place.
It was obvious I still had a lot of the instinct left as I found myself in another situation later on, but at least there were no snakes!
Cheers
Susan x
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- The Accidental Heroine (owlsandorchids.com)
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