I got my first job when I was in high school. At first, I loved it. But, as I worked longer and longer, I came to realize that the people I worked with were actually horrible. They made it seem like my fault when I asked to have off when my grandmother passed away, and they “lost my schedule request” when I requested off for an academic competition. So, I got fed up with them. As a joke, I wrote a bomb threat saying that there was an explosive device in the mall, and that whoever found the note had a choice to make: to be a hero, or to leave it be so that the blood of the innocent was on his hands. Keep in mind, there was no bomb. I would never actually build and detonate an explosive device.
Fast forward five years, and I got caught up in the world of drugs. I only used marijuana occasionally, but I had access to pills, which means that I had the ability to sell them. So, I found a strong version of Advil and switched them out for my mom’s Hydrocodone. I also took my mom’s Oxycodone, along with two other muscle relaxers, and I sold them to a friend of mine (who was no longer able to smoke weed because his parents found his grinder). My mom did not use these pills: she had them from prior bouts with kidney stones, but for some reason held onto them. I decided that I would sell them both to make a decent chunk of change and to help a friend out who could no longer enjoy the magical ganj.