Dave and the Christmas Light
Working in a liquor store in Camberwell in the lead-up to Christmas was always busy. Camberwell Junction Cellars wasn’t your average bottle-o, either. Being in a fancy suburb meant we stocked plenty of top-shelf whisky and spirits. The kind of stuff people bought to impress their in-laws.
Steve, the owner, was new to the game. He and a bunch of his accountant mates had bought the place off a chain called Macs San Remo. I’d worked there under the old mob and stuck around as assistant manager.
The Smash-and-Grab
A few weeks before Christmas, some blokes decided they wanted in on our premium stock, the five-finger discount way. They drove a car straight through the front doors, hooked up a trailer, and loaded it with tens of thousands of dollars worth of grog.
The alarm went off, but they were quick. Still, a passing cop car heard the ruckus and gave chase. As the thieves tore across the train lines on Prospect Hill Road, all the booze went flying out of the trailer and smashed onto the bitumen. When I came in later, there was broken glass glittering across the road like some kind of drunk Christmas miracle. They never caught the blokes. Insurance paid out, but the shop was a mess.
The Lighting Saga
We decided better lighting out the front might stop the next smash-and-grab. Easy, right? Wrong. Council said, “Not our issue.” The electricity company said, “Not our issue either.” Council reckoned we could apply for a permit, might take months. The power mob said if it was approved, it’d cost thousands. Basically, two giant shrugs. Insurance was Steve’s headache. My job was dealing with council and the electricity company, which turned out to be like arguing with a brick wall.
Enter the Hero with a Truck
Most afternoons, a young bloke in his early twenties came in for a six-pack. Friendly chap, always up for a laugh. This day he rolled in driving a massive truck with an extension boom on it. I suddenly realised, he worked for the electricity company.
I told him our sob story: thieves, smashed doors, council run-around, ridiculous costs. He grinned and said, “Mate, I can sort it now… for a slab.”
Best bargain I’ve ever made. Fifteen minutes later, he’s up in the air fitting a floodlight that lit up the whole bloody street. No permits, no invoices, no bureaucratic nonsense. Just a slab of beer and a bloke with a truck.
The Punchline
The light cost me a slab, took fifteen minutes, and lit up the whole street like the MCG. We never had another break-in while I was there, all thanks to a cheeky sparkie and the true currency of Australia: beer.
