It's not so hard to explain how Melbourne is Safety Town. Even to lifelong residents, I need only to point out common occurrences, like this 3-way no-standing-anywhere pole, to validate my point.
But by now a few people have asked me why exactly that makes me Dangerous Girl.
The answer to this is two-fold.
Example no. 1: Somehow I engage in dangerous behavior without any purposeful effort.
earlier this evening:
The cabinets in my kitchen are quite high (which I find funny considering everyone in my building is a short Asian aside from me and husband). Tonight, I came home parched from riding my bike.
I reached up on to my tip-toes to get a water glass out of the cupboard. The glass slipped out of the cupboard, hit me in the head, then plummeted to its death, shattering on the tile floor. My left eye has been going blurry lately, (which I attribute to staring into the 100-watt light bulb I call my computer screen all day ) so I was already squinting, and then, rubbing my head, I knelt down to start picking up the shards, at which point I skewered my knee with a rogue, upright toothpick of glass.
Shit like this happens all the time.
Example no. 2: Sometimes I engage in dangerous behavior quite purposefully, because I think it is fucking hilarious. Friday night, I was out with husband a few friends. We proceeded to get quite shit-faced early in the evening, laughingly traipsing from one establishment to the next. In transit from bar #5 to bar #6, we happened to walk by The Melbourne Club, a ye olde white boys' club that used to hate Jews and still hates women. The door was open a crack.
I walked confidently, albeit drunkenly, up the steps and through the front door, heading straight for the beautiful winding staircase, noticing out of the corner of my eye the fat old security guard waking from his nap just in time to see the Intruder/Female Infidel. The boys tried to follow me but got way-laid by Lieutenant Dumpy Butt, allowing me to slip under the radar and successfully into the second level. As I didn't expect to get as far as I'd already gotten, I started trying to encroach upon the House of Patriarchy/Freemasons/KKK as much as possible, testing every door handle, and sneaking quickly from room to room, as the boys watched my progress through the windows down below.
Eventually it occurred to me that I was trespassing and being an asshole—possibly risking the crisp and clean status of my brand-new Aussie Permanent Resident visa—so I stepped nonchalantly out of the shadows so that Old Man Diapers could finally figure out where I was. I walked past him, quickly, casually admiring the artwork but staying out of his reach, spouting off a story about how my art history teacher had mentioned what an impressive catalog the Club had, "so I thought I'd come check it out, y'know?"
And, finally nearing the door, I high-tailed it out of there and we continued on our way to the next bar. But not before husband slipped, and accidentally did this to my foot: