In a stunning turn of events that could only take place in the heart of Australia’s capital, Canberra, a group of intrepid citizens decided to spend their Saturday engaging in a little unsanctioned "crime tourism." Armed with nothing but their wits, a homemade treasure map, and a questionable amount of sunscreen, they set out to experience a day in the life of Canberra's finest—its beloved police officers. The day began with a gathering at the iconic roundabout that has baffled tourists and locals alike. Legend has it that this roundabout is a hub for all things law enforcement, as officers are often found circling it, ensuring that the “five-minute rule” of “spinning wheels of justice” remains intact. However, in a comical twist, the participants mistook a roundabout sign for a local crime index and commenced a scavenger hunt for “criminal activities” as if they were searching for Pokémon. First on the agenda was a visit to the National Museum of Australian Police History. Thank goodness for the strobe lights in the exhibits, which perfectly emulated the feeling of being interrogated by a tired cop at 2 a.m. as participants perused artifacts like the world’s oldest DUI report and a handwritten apology letter from an officer to a particularly grumpy kangaroo. Next, they moved on to the beloved "Blue Curtain"—an actual curtain hanging outside a quaint local cafe that doubles as a meeting point for officers at the end of the day. Rumor has it that if you stand silently for long enough, someone will offer you a donut and complain about the weather. Of course, our group saw this as an opportunity to stage an “arrest” of their friend, who was accused of—gasp—reading the news while having brunch. The fake handcuffs didn’t quite make it past the curtain, as the cafe staff, likely tired of the antics from the brunch crowd, promptly tossed them out along with some leftover avocado toast. As the day progressed, participants found themselves embroiled in a series of hilarious “crimes against good taste.” One particularly brave soul dared to order a flat white without oat milk, and before anyone could call the “fashion police,” they were promptly surrounded by locals demanding a fair trial. “I was framed!” they cried, while sipping on what they insisted was a “legally served” coffee. Just when it seemed the merriment would settle down, the crew decided to take on a local challenge: “Can you outrun the police?” After some impromptu sprinting down Constitution Avenue, the imaginary chase came to a halt when it was revealed that a group of actual officers were partaking in a charity bake sale at a nearby intersection. Participants fell to the ground, panting not from exertion but from laughter and the overwhelming scent of fresh-baked goods. As the sun set over the Australian capital, the day concluded with a heartfelt “arrested development” speech, where participants vowed to uphold the law of hilarity at all costs. With a blend of mischief and mirth, they tiptoed home, emboldened by their new “criminal” endeavors, clutching their prizes: a box of donuts, a souvenir flat white cup, and the realization that humor, like the Australian police, often finds you when you least expect it. And so, Canberra, the city of politics, bureaucracy, and now, perhaps, the world’s most eccentric crime spree, wrapped up what can only be described as a "criminally fun" day. Just remember, if you hear of a rise in city crime statistics, it may very well be the shocking return of the local “crime tourists”—so keep an eye on that roundabout, folks.