A small town interlude

The Police in New Zealand are kind, helpful, unarmed, and wonderful people genuinely dedicated to helping the populous anyway they can. Frank lost his wallet somewhere, it was turned into the police with all of the cash and all of the credit cards, who then, after being contacted by our crew, drove it to a town called Twizel that we would be passing through. Truly kind people. We stopped at the Twizel police station to pick it up, only to find no one home, and no way bar calling the emergency number, to get a hold of them. “No worries!” was the general consensus, as we saw a car at a hotel. The bus driver went in, checked around, asked the counter attendant, and couldn’t for the life of him find an officer. After some discussion of smoking crack and/or slashing tires to draw police attention, we decided to go back to the station and wait. After a while, someone returned from lunch, a bit surprised, Frank regained his wallet, and we were on our way.