Nasruddin was walking past a bakery in Marrickville in the Inner West of Sydney. George, the Greek baker, was making mouth-watering baklava, sumptuous sourdough and irresistable profiteroles. Nasruddin caught the heavenly aromas wafting out of the bakery door. The bakery smelled so good he decided to stand outside the door and just keep smelling the beautiful gift from Allah. After about half an hour of Nasruddin standing and smelling, George the baker called out to him.
‘Are you going to buy anything?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Nasruddin. ‘I’m just smelling.’
‘You can’t just smell. Either buy something or leave.’
‘It’s a free world. I can smell if I want to.’
George started to get angry. ‘Look here,’ he said haughtily. ‘I break my back making this stuff. I don’t do it for you to hang around and smell it. You need to pay me for the privilege.’
‘I do not,’ said Nasruddin.
‘Fine, I’m calling the cops,’ shouted George. He’d had enough of this Nasruddin joker.
‘Whatever,’ said Nasruddin, continuing to sniff the air and grinning with pleasure.
It just so happened that Pete, a beat cop from Marrickville Local Area Command was walking up the street at that moment. George called out to him.
‘What’s the issue, mate?’ asked Pete.
‘This character,’ George began indignantly, ‘Is smelling my bread without paying.’
‘Smelling it?’ Pete asked.
‘Nasruddin, I warned you about ticking off the locals,’ said Pete. ‘Ok, I think we can resolve this. Nasruddin, do you have any change in your pocket?’
‘Yes,’ said Nasruddin.
‘Jingle it,’ said Pete the cop. Nasruddin did.
Pete looked sardonically at George the baker. ‘You’ve been paid.’