i got busted big time once. well probably twice. the first time was when i was about 9 mucking around with my cousins when the police got us. we were at my uncle's house making our own fun... which sometimes meant antagonising people just to see what they'd do. but on this occasion we took it a bit too far and copped a hiding as a result.
my uncle lived next door to a park with a scout hall. we could hear 'olden days' music coming from the hall so went to investigate... and through the open front door saw a bunch of old people learning how to dance. at first the game was about spying on them without being seen... but then we started making animal noises and knocking on the door to get a reaction. when they told us to bugger off the game got even more fun.
FYI... me and my cousins all wanted to be macaulay culkin... most of the time our lives resembled home alone but occasionally we veered into the good son territory. this was one of those sundays.
our next move was slamming the heavy wooden door of the scout hall... followed by locking the door from the outside so the dancers couldn't escape. but the old people didn't seem to care about this and continued on with their dancing... and their lack of care meant that we needed to up the ante to make the game worthwhile.
sooo... we started throwing stones on the tin roof proving without a doubt that we were a bunch of little shits. this tactic got the desired reaction (the old people started threatening us) which meant that it was almost time to run... and run we did... especially when we heard the glass smash.
so the four of us bolted through the park back towards my uncle's house. at the end of his street we saw a police car crawling slowly past... so shit-scared, we sprinted inside the house and sat in the lounge room like a bunch of good churchy kids eager for someone to test them on their nine times table.
and that's when the police knocked at the door.
my uncle terry (the angry one) answered and the four of us were called to the front door... staring at the carpet as we dragged our feet. we were criminals. we thought we were going to jail.
the police explained what had happened and terry's veins started popping out of his head. he then called us a bunch of bloody dickheads and asked who had smashed the window. my two younger cousins pointed at little pete (who was about 7). so the police took down pete's details and said they'd be in touch with his dad big pete and drove away.
then the four of us were blasted by terry who whacked his two kids on the bum... and told pete and i not to think ourselves lucky as we'd be getting the same as soon as our dads arrived to pick us up... we all cried... we got busted.
the second time i got busted was just as fun and just as scary... but a little different. fast forward roughly 10 years and this (sub)urban tomboy has just come out... and so for a formative experience... it's pretty formative. more to come.