A Burrito, Alcohol, and One Unlucky Grome

How I Got Busted

L I S T E N

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I didn’t rob a bank. I didn’t fight anybody. I didn’t steal a car, a bike, or even a damn shopping cart.

No. I got busted for something way dumber.

I was drunk and high at the same time — which, if you’re aiming for dignity, is a bold and terrible strategy — and I had convinced myself I was on a mission.

What mission?

No idea.

But I knew it was important.

So there I was at 2:17 a.m., wearing one sock, holding a half-eaten burrito, and aggressively rearranging somebody else’s porch furniture like I was auditioning for Extreme Makeover: Random House Edition.

In my mind, I wasn’t trespassing.

I was curating vibes.

I rearranged chairs I didn’t own.I relocated plants I hadn’t purchased.I even attempted to “rescue” a garden grome because I was convinced he looked emotionally neglected.

That grome did not ask to be saved.

Then the porch light flipped on. And suddenly, there I was…holding stolen lawn art…explaining to a stranger that I was not a threat… I was an interior decorator of the soul.

That’s when I heard the sirens.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just… enough.

The officer looked at me.Then the burrito.Then the grome.

Then back at me.

He sighed and said,“Sir… what are you doing?”

I responded with confidence that should never be trusted:“I’m fixing the energy.”

And that, my friends, was the bust.

I wasn’t dangerous.I wasn’t violent.I was just deeply confused and soaked in poor decisions.

The wild part?

The officer didn’t look angry.

He looked exhausted.

Like he had seen this exact movie before…and hated the ending.

I got a small charge and a massive reality check.

The next morning, hung-over, dehydrated, and holding my skull like it might fall off, I thought:“Bro… you were out there kidnapping lawn décor.”

That was my bottom.

An overnight jail cell.

Not a gutter.

A grome.

So I quit.

No big speech.No dramatic soundtrack.

I quit because I was tired of being the side character in my own disaster.

Life now?

Way quieter.Way less chaotic.Zero stolen garden creatures.

I wake up clear.I go to bed without regret.My furniture belongs to me.My choices belong to me.

And my life… finally belongs to me.

And the best part?

Nobody’s flipped a porch light on me in years.