Indian, Pakistani, Malay, Burmese, Sri Lankan--it didn't matter. They
were all Aboriginal, and were treated accordingly.
Once when he was talking on the pay phone across from his house, the
police pulled up and asked him what he was doing there. Talking on the
phone, he told them. It was pretty obvious. They asked for
identification, made him empty his pockets, which contained his small
mobile phone. They told him his mobile must be stolen, took it from
him and ran a check on the serial number. Fifteen minutes and many
more accusations later, they finally let him go with the flimsiest of
apologies. `Well, you understand,' one cop said. `We don't see many of
your type around here.'
Yeah. Anthrax understood. It looked pretty suspicious, a dark-skinned
boy using a public telephone. Very suss indeed.
In fact, Anthrax had the last laugh. He had been on a phreaked call to
Canada at the time and he hadn't bothered to hang up when the cops
arrived. Just told the other phreakers to hang on. After the police
left, he picked up the conversation where he left off.
Incidents like that taught him that sometimes the better path was to
toy with the cops.
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