Yes, just like you, I eat lunch. Albeit for the amount of time it takes to cram something reasonably nutritious into my mouth to stave off starvation. Being a Property Professional, some may believe I don’t eat like regular humans – surviving on piping hot lattes whilst chatting leisurely on my mobile phone at a highly visible cafe or quaffing champagne and eating smoked koala loins at an industry junket.
Well the reality today was – a kebab from a reputable kebab emporium! Half a pound of unruly, yet delicious meat, salad and hummus. Helping all those owners who are selling a home privately, sometimes only allows me five minutes per day for food intake (it is in our agreement fine print, along with 6 hours a night sleep and two toilet breaks), so I thought I would take the chance today and linger for about 8 minutes over this luscious kebab.
Then to numb my brain for a few minutes, I saw a copy of one of the glossy celebrity tabloids in front of me at the salubrious staff meal table. I flicked through the pages, which is not easy to do with two hands holding together the writhing meat based beast.
Then I saw the headline that led to an involuntary spray painting of the meal area with the half chewed contents of my mouth (remind me to leave the cleaner a serious tip this week and tweet Prince William an apology for the hummus that fell on Baby George’s head). The headline read, “My Drug Battle.” In short, some exceedingly handsome Euro-Asian/Native American minor part young actor, draped alluringly over a tree stump, was confessing to the world that he had beaten a heroin addiction and was now clean thanks to everyone from the girl who got him hooked, to the Church of Benny Hill. Admirable my boy, most admirable.
How times have changed. In my past life as a Police Detective, you could not get a ‘junkie’ to admit to breathing, let alone whether or not he was using or supplying the ‘gear’ as we used to call it. In the 21st century they give them mass media attention for a juicy admission and offer them a movie role or a reality TV series!!
Most conversations with junkies used to go something like this;
“Detective Smith, Sydney CIB. I have reason to believe you may be carrying and under the influence of a prohibited substance. Can you empty your pockets please?”
‘Oh come on boss, I haven’t used the gear for 3 weeks. I’m clean.” The suspect says as he attempts to empty the contents of his 14 pockets attached to 4 layers of clothing in the middle of a February heat wave, with his feet.
As this search takes place an associate walks by and says to our friend, “Hey Nobby, I’ll be at the Rex at 4pm to get on, you gunna be there?”
“Friend of yours Nobby?”
“Don’t even know the bloke. Yeah, see ya Fitzy. Like I said boss, I’m clean.” Just then some small balloons filled with powder fall out of one the pockets attached to his sweat soaked ski parka.
“So, I suppose you are going to tell me you are a balloon clown on your way to a street performance?”
“How did you guess boss?”
I won’t bore you with the rest of the story, but I can guarantee you did not see this gentleman adorn the celebrity pages of one of ninemsn with the headline, “Heroin to Helium. How filling balloons saved my life.”
It appears that these days, addictions and rehab sleep- overs are all the rage and help to make you famous. Rising above adversity is noble and full of merit, however, I just hope that the easily influenced generations these ‘drugs to fame’ stories are aimed at realise that glamour and perceived wealth is not a natural bi-product of stupidity.
My eight minutes disappeared very quickly, as did my kebab. Our ‘would be’ famous actor maintained his remorseful yet seductive smile as I closed the pages. The thing that I’m miffed about is that his fifteen minutes of fame was longer than my lunch break. Happily I was soon back to showing owners how to sell their own home. Hey, maybe there is a Kebab Rehab?! I do love them a bit too much.
