Is that you Mr. Dundee?

While sailing to Sydney, Australia I thought about this story dating back to my early social service days. This was my Crocodile Dundee moment, which occurred within the first month of opening the social service agency, before I was a real veteran.  I was the only counselor that day. I had two little 70 year old church ladies, with a combined weight of about 150 pounds, packing groceries for me, back in the pantry area.  I had barely unlocked the doors when a traditional looking biker type, with requite black leather, chains and tattoos - probably 6’ 3 and topping 350 pounds strode in very purposefully. As he was the first and only client, I invited him into the counselor booth. Without saying a word, he sat down across the desk from me.  He pulled out this rather large knife and started cleaning his fingernails while he requested some food and money for gas.  Now a basic in this type of counseling is you always take the chair closest to the door (in case you need to make a break for it.) Another rule is never show fear or raise your voice. So in my sweetest, calmest voice, I told him I would appreciate it if he would put the knife away or take it back to his “hog” – no, really I said car. Anyway, he just sort of looked at me a moment then said, “You call this a knife?” He then reached into his boot and took out something that looked like he could have harvested cane fields with it or beheaded uncooperative social workers, depending on his mood.  He then said,” That is a nail cleaner, this is a knife”.  I smiled and laughed a little, really hoping it was a Crocodile Dundee reference.  I told him I couldn’t give him money, but if he would take his knives outside and put them away, I would bring his food out to him. I felt a need to get him out of the office before my little church ladies saw this knife wielding, tattooed and pierced biker and I needed to call 911 to revive them. That, or for sure, they might never come volunteer a second time.  I tried to sped pack the food with the little ladies helping - asking me if my client might like a brownie mix or if he preferred Cheerios to Corn Flakes etc.  I rushed the food order curb side in record time.  I then watched as he “roared” off on his bike (no, not a Harley, but a one speed). It created quite a sight as this 300 pound brute, leather clad, with chains rattling pedaled off down the road with a bag of groceries dangling from each handlebar. I still wonder why requested gas money – maybe his Harley was at home bone dry in his driveway.