The other day I saw a truck driver throw a cigarette out the window at the lights. This is just stupid in a fire-prone country but there was something cavalierly Bogan about the way he chucked it out of his truckie throne that annoyed me. I did what any courageous citizen of the world would do: took down his rego number.
Normally I would have forgotten about it. But here’s the scary thing I then went to the trouble of emailing the RTA about this truckie ciggie chucker. They replied saying I needed to contact the Dept of Environment and now here’s the extra scary thing – I contacted them.
Now probably the truckie chuckie will get a letter from Dept of Environment advising him not to throw things, but the really scary thing is that I bothered to email two government departments. And it got me thinking – at what point do you turn into a grumpy old woman? Is it possible to freeze-dry in time that moment when you’ve crossed over from being nice normal relaxed happy you, to the Damian version? That person who writes down car number plates, who busts truckies for acting like truckies, who performs tai chi against small children with umbrellas and who rants online.
Oh yeah, that moment.