about a square peg in a round hole

Hans just told me a great story that will forever go down in the Hallmark cache of anecdotes. So I’m recording it here first, to make a quick buck off Hallmark. Copyright, remember?

Hans had this housemate, Hank*, a 30 something year old, who he’d been living with (together with some other lager-fueled students. Hank was a very private person and never spoke much of his past (come on, EVERYONE has a past, right?) Some time ago, Hank said that he was moving out to the Bay for work, and left soon after. Then one recent morning, at around (isn’t this the most useful two-word combination ever invented) 6am in the morning, Hans heard banging on the door. This being Cardiff, the city of ever-drunk students and Welsh football fans, Hans automagically assumed that it was just the work of the Anti-Sobriety Posse, and promptly chose to ignore the inane thumping of his door.

Then he heard voices accompanying the obscene door knocking. Perhaps it’s the post people, he thought, before realising that its too early, even for You-Send-We-Deliver (Wales). At this juncture, Hans’ other housemates, who were still awake, as you do on a school night at 6am, entertaining Jack, Bombay and Tanqueray, Esq., went to the door to try and establish whether there actually were people knocking on the door, or whether it was just those mushroom they acquired from Marko Campanello in that alley off St. Mary’s Street (”They’re fresh as, mate, don’t you worry. Quality produce is all I deal in. Promise!”).

Apparently, it was the Police, or as they say in the ‘hood (Ely), Five-O. What followed was in short, a verbal warning that if the door was not opened within the next 3 seconds (talk about stressful modern living and the impatience of armed forces), they would effectively “blow the door down”, so to speak. Lily-livered and probably extremely pissed (some pissing may also have been involved – eyewitness accounts appear somewhat contradictory), they silently complied. Imagine any scene from S.W.A.T. that involves entering a marked premise with intent to capture those who are bold and stupid enough to break the laws of the land (or piss your government off, by way of constructive and creative expressions of personal liberties), and you would be just about visualise the ensuing few moments; except that there were no breaking down of doors, nor were there big fuck off guns pointed at the residents’ faces, nor was there any action of any conceivable nature, and that it was really the Immigration Police.

In any case, the police – do they actually garner the same recognition or respect as REAL police? Wouldn’t Immigration Special Enforcer (ISE) of the British Colonial Empire or something more bureaucratic be more apropo? – searched the house and checked everyone’s passport before fully realising that Hank, was in fact, not there. Consequently, Hans and his housemates were informed that they were here to arrest Frank, as a Warrant of Arrest had been issued for illegal immigration and several other unspecified misdemenours of some kind or another.

Phew! What a great wake-up call, huh? Throw in a cup of joe and a cream cheese bagel and it would have been perfect!

Anyway, the moral of the story is this: If living with a Hank, Crank or a Wank with a distinct reluctance to share memories of his past, for periods approximating six calendar months, after which he moves to a Bay area (or anything comparable) for ‘work’, be cautious of Immigration Police coming round with battering rams exercising special visitation rights. In no event should you wear a fitting custom printed tee-shirt saying “I’m an ill-eagle” or “Get a Yob!” or “Okay, so I shot the Korean dairy owner…”, or pink leather hot-pants.

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Disclaimer:
Certain portions of this story may have been embellished, as is expected and commonplace in the greatest oral traditions. No vegetables, animals or inebriated students were hurt in the retelling of this story. The portion featuring Marko Campanello (to be played by Johnny “Depp” Deep Ramachandran in the forthcoming movie “Mmm’Shrooms”) is a fiction, as well as the Anti-Sobriety Posse (inspired by the collegiate confederate congregation of thirsty students out for blood). The description of Hans’ housemates as lily-livered persons was just because I love that descriptor, and may or may not be true, as I don’t even know who they are. The title of this entry is what it is for the sole reason that I was looking for a hook, and doesn’t really have anything to do with the story.

* Name changed to protect Frank’s true identity