Last night we were waiting for spare ribs to arrive, so when the door bell rang and Bodhi customary began barking, we completely expected the delivery boy. He’d have been awfully fast, but hey, maybe we were lucky. Who knows, right?
But no. Turned out that there was a police officer at the door (Bodhi was barking like a mofo in the kitchen. That’s right Bo, fuck the police ) who checked at first if he was at the right address. And then: do you own a scooter? Confused, I said yes. Because Olli does.
A black Piaggio? Yes again. And in another moment of confusion I glanced to the right, where it was supposed to be parked, next to Tangy.
“So where is it, then?” the police man asked.
Snarkiness of the police officer notwithstanding, that means it was stolen. I called Olli, who then proceeded to be told that our neighbour saved his scooter from being stolen. It had just been picked up and was carried off by some kids through the street, steering lock and all. Our lady neighbour asked them what the hell they were doing. They tossed down the scooter and ran for it, while she called 112.
I bought some flowers and wine for her this afternoon.
That lady is a fucking hero. <3
(still can’t believe they’d do that on a regular tuesday evening at 7pm, though. WHAT THE FUCK. We were right home, too! Lights were on and all. I mean, we were upstairs, but still. WTF.)