I gotta do something...

Sometimes I wish I could just mind my own business.

On Friday evening I came out of a funky bar/cafe in one of the Franco Cozzo suburbs, the suburb that residents proudly defend, but no one else likes (that I have a soft spot for). I sometimes drop in to catch up with some of my clever arty friends, they make me feel 'with it' in a groovy, cool kind of way. And as I approached my car parked near the creepy railway line, I could hear aggressive male voices from the other side of the line.

Yeah?
Yeah!
Come 'ere
Yeah?
Drop the knife,
Drop the knife,
Put the knife down
Come 'ere

I peered through the bushes and saw two young African men walking away from a ranting, swarthy looking young man following them and trying to get them into battle, he had a mate several meters away.

The bushes got in my way and I heard a big CRACK as a wooden stake was broken from the ground and the swarthy man calls the African guys back and is brandishing the stake over his head (the African guys were the ones with the knife) as the distance between them closed to about five paces.

By this time I am thinking, OMG, WTF? I had the car door open by now, so I got in the car, backed out and pulled up parallel to the train line, so I could get a better view. For a nano second I considered calling the cops, but by the time I got through the rigmarole of 'What's your name?', 'What is your date of birth?', 'What is the address', (which I didn't know, I just know where the place is), it would have been too late.

A million things went through my mind, I felt I needed to do something, and after quickly assessing my safety and escape route,I wound down my window and in my most psycho, fishwife, looney bin voice, I shouted out 'FUCK OFF YOU ARSE HOLES, AND GO HOME!' (Home, meaning house, not back to your country of origin, it wasn't about race).

The three of them froze, stunned, and looked around everywhere, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. The knife carrying African dude spots me, almost visibly relaxes as he sees it's some crazy lady, and comes back with 'Suck my dick you fat bitch'. Hilarious! Glad he called me fat and not old! He must have seen my fat arms and double chin or something, ah, but most of the women are probably tall and thin where he comes from.

By this time, a few other people within earshot (probably all the way to the MCG) had stopped their business to see what was going on. I shouted back 'FUCK YOU. GO HOME' and so I could get the last word, I wound up my window and drove off. On the way home I was kicking myself - when he shouted his crappy insult, I should have said 'What?', so he had to repeat it, and then said 'I still can't hear you' that would have taken away more power. Or I could have said 'Give us a look first!'. Not to make light of the situation, but the aim was to put a spanner in the works and distract them from their blood lust.

I do feel a tiny bit traumatized, but that trauma would have been much worse if it had turned into a stabbing or a whack over the head with a long wooden stake. I don't know what happened after that, but I hope they gave each other dirty looks, mouthed off a bit and then melted away from the gathering attention.