Last Wednesday (12/3), Madz, Haz and I were minding our own business having a mid-day laptop party in the kitchen to book the rest of Ireland, when Tall Harry and two security guard/police peeps came strolling in. The guards asked if we could step out for a few minutes, so we did. Then, we watched them head into Harry's room. Oh, the drama (llama).
They spent a good hour or so in there, and then we watched (from the kitchen window) Harry being escorted to their police car and then they put some white stuff into an evidence bag in the trunk of the car.
Later, we found out from various sources he was dealing heroin, cocaine, MDMA (which is apparently ecstasy - I didn't know, clearly I'm not in the loop with drugs), etc. (Edit: Maddie told me she heard he was arrested for three Class A drugs.)
All of a sudden, the drunken foot tattoos he came home in the morning with, our hallway always smelling like weed, and his friends partying in his room until the wee hours of the morning made so much sense.
On Thursday, the po-po were back (and with sniffer dogs). Needless to say, I missed my lecture that day (and for good reason, if you ask me). Madz and I were sat in the kitchen talking loudly about drugs and Harry, when we decided we wanted to do a sweep of the building and find the sniffer dogs (I just wanted to pet a puppy!!!)....we walked out of the kitchen, and into three men in uniform searching the tiles in the ceiling. Awkwardness ensued, as they clearly heard us (the walls are thin). Plan B: we made a beeline for my room and sat in the window sill to watch all the commotion.
Welp, Harry has not been seen or heard from since. The building and all the corridor codes have been changed, and according to Short Harry they are planning another bust in a couple of weeks (another guy on our floor was arrested as well - so many drug dealers, so little time). This past week, Harry's Dad (I assume) was here to collect his things. Poor lad, he didn't look like the father of a drug dealer.
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On another note, people are starting to think I'm Australian because I hang out with the Australians so much.
Last weekend, while waiting in the queue to get into a club, I was having a conversation with an American girl. We were a good five minutes in, when she asks me, "Where in Australia are you from?" I stared at her for a good couple of seconds like she was on drugs (I mean, we can apparently easily get them in our hall), and then said I was American. She told me I didn't look American. I'll take it.
Last weekend, while waiting in the queue to get into a club, I was having a conversation with an American girl. We were a good five minutes in, when she asks me, "Where in Australia are you from?" I stared at her for a good couple of seconds like she was on drugs (I mean, we can apparently easily get them in our hall), and then said I was American. She told me I didn't look American. I'll take it.
'Chav Night' last weekend, aka the night my Americanness was questioned.
PS: I've been given an abundance of baked goods and chocolate and ice cream this week. My people know me well.
PPS: I don't think people here think rain falling down sideways with wind about to pick you up is a good enough reason to miss your lectures/seminars. I do. (But then again, I think drug busts are also a good reason, so maybe my priorities aren't the best. But hey, at least I'm not selling/doing drugs.)
PPS: I don't think people here think rain falling down sideways with wind about to pick you up is a good enough reason to miss your lectures/seminars. I do. (But then again, I think drug busts are also a good reason, so maybe my priorities aren't the best. But hey, at least I'm not selling/doing drugs.)
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