I went to a dance party recently and the police were there for a few hours with sniffer dogs, continually doing walk-throughs and taking people aside for a frisking and checking through their bags even if the dog hadn’t spotted anything. Which seemed pointless cause the only thing they seemed to be dispensing were little yellow tickets – might have been cautions or something, maybe for wearing something dangerous (eg. spiky).
I objected to their dour-faced demeanour the entire time. And the most insane thing were the “plain clothes” police – they might as well have been dresssed in clown outfits, they were so ridiculously “screaming in your face” obvious. I don’t think anyone’s worn anything like that in public to a dance party since Enimen’s 8 Mile – they had baggy khaki camo trousers, pastel-coloured baggy sloppy joes (which kept riding up to reveal all their police equipment), baseball caps on backwards and white sneakers! This was at a party where *everyone* was wearing black and it was mostly leather harnesses, slave chain chokers, leather jockstraps and a cock ring underneath.
On a taxpayer-funded budget, they could have got by with a cheap secondhand boy scout uniform from C’s Flashback in Crown Street (just up from the cop shop) or done a spot of mummification with Glad wrap. Or just cut the crotch out of something. But white sneakers! There’s no way they would have got past the door bitch as they didn’t meet the fetish dress code.
And then they’d lurk/stand behind their next targets, staring at us, and a few minutes later the dog squad would pounce. It’s creepy to stand behind groups of women, boyz!
The best bit was the dog – black and puppyish demeanour and so thrilled to be at the party. It even found “drugs” next to a person standing next to me – turned out to be an empty wrapper with drugs, though. They made the dog run up and down the stairs all night.
The big police presence was supposed to be to protect us, the patrons, from the feral gangs driving around at night wanting to bash anyone who looked freaky.
Instead, I think it was the police who insisted on no pass-outs (they do that so people can’t go back and forth to their car to take drugs and return) and some people had planned to also go to Klub Kooky tonight and go back and forth but couldn’t.
What gets me even more is that it meant as I wandered off at some ungodly hour back to my car, I couldn’t ask anyone to accompany me. I was parked miles away on the main street and on another occasion I’d had a car stop on that street and a bloke try to drag me into his 4WD.
Anyway, I had to specially ask the bouncer who arranged for a security guard to escort me, and the guard told me the police had frowned upon him doing that, but he’d insisted, as patrons were most vulnerable then.
There were half a dozen police outside the dance party and none of them offered to walk me back to the car.
I don’t see why the police have to be so dour-faced and unfriendly.
As someone joked before the party: “The patrons will mainly be lawyers anyway.”
Otherwise, it was a fantastic party. The pole dancers were amazing (I heard the pole was later taken apart and searched by police) and a stripper called Fanny did a “milking the cow” striptease that involved a scene I won’t be able to get out of my head for weeks: the climax was dimming the lights, turning on UV ligthing and then repeatedly pouring milk over all crevices of her body. It was amazing.
Bumped into someone downstairs who’d “just broken up with someone” but he was back in the saddle. “I keep tilting at windmills.”
The party had sold out a few days before, so there was a great turn-out.
