I used work as a food-runner at a restaurant to make a little summer moolah. During the time I spent working there, I began to despise the establishment and all of its contents contained for numerous reasons. I am a very easy going guy, but some things began to get under my skin. The head chef was a creepy perv that lived in an alternate reality, self created, of lies to make himself feel better about his shitty existence. My boss was an ass-hat that could weasel a condescending jab into a casual greeting. The live music was provided by a pedophile that played the same songs on guitar every night, drove a convertible mustang and was convinced he was hotter than senior year in high school. The servers were greasy fucks that would take all the girls my age out for drinks, neglecting the 10 year age difference. Now that we got the jist of my motivation out of the way, let's get to the topic at hand... Amidst my growing frustration, I began putting my ability to notice the little things to use. My superiors were pretty dumb, so I started with their flaws. By time summer break was almost over, I had learned: where the key to the front door is, the code to get the key out of the box, where they hide their key to the main office within the restaurant, annnd the code to the safe in the office. I was quite impressed with my covert skills, but didn't desire to do anything with it, as just the information made me feel powerful enough. That is, UNTIL one night I decided to take a full stack of Dramamine. I had a buddy who got inspired by the Modest Mouse song, tried it, and said it felt really good. I found that to be very false as I was just laying in my bed twitching uncontrollably with enough anxiety to even make Helen Keller say What The Fuck. I couldn't sleep and had a ridiculous idea. Tonight was the night I'm going to rob the job. I grabbed a stupid beanie cut eye holes in it, and grabbed an old pair of tube socks and cut thumb holes in it. I honestly don't know what the fuck I was thinking. Clearly, I'm high as a fuck and all logic has abandoned me in this odd moment. So, around 3 in the morning I park a few blocks from the restaurant and began running to the damn joint. I hope the service fence and make my way to the front door. By this point my ears are ringing full time and my heart is jumping out of my skull. Surely, it wasn't the drugs. I make my way through the door and run the kitchen. holy fuck this is happening. I slide the key out from its "secret" spot and open the office. QIWYEAGdfhkq. I'm officially on my last step of sabotage. I throw in the code to the safe, see the green light, and throw that bitch open. On my knees, I then found myself staring at roughly 40k in straight bands. I proceeded to freak the fuck out and run straight to my car. Fuck me. I know. Fast forward to two days later and the paper had front page article about the mishap. The were making Italian Job references and where just blathering on about how there was a highly intelligent criminal behind this and maybe they were trying to send a message to the corporate offices of that place. The restaurant were afraid of their personal bank accounts and thought I was some mastermind sending them some sinister warning or something. I'm all over here like, "Nah, just a teenager on some stupid drugs too scared to case a joint." haha damn.