Owning a store was never part of my dream. But life, as they say, has a sense of humor. One day, you’re a free-spirited individual with a head full of dreams, and the next, you’re the proud owner of “Bargain Bonanza,” a small but respectable convenience store in the heart of town. It wasn’t much, but it paid the bills—until, of course, someone decided to rob me blind.
The robbery happened on a Tuesday. I remember because Tuesdays are notoriously boring, but this one decided to be different. I had just finished counting inventory when the masked bandit strolled in, gun in hand, and demanded all the cash from the register. I’d always imagined that if I were ever in a situation like this, I’d be some kind of action hero—diving behind the counter, grabbing a hidden bat, or at least pressing the emergency button under the register. But no, I stood there like a deer in headlights, handed over the money, and watched helplessly as the thief made off with my hard-earned profits.
After the police arrived and took my statement (which consisted mostly of me stammering and pointing at the register), I remembered the one silver lining in this whole mess: security cameras. Yes, my humble store had recently upgraded to high-definition surveillance, and I had footage of the crime in glorious 1080p. The cops took my report, promised to investigate, and left. That’s when I had my brilliant, totally logical, not-at-all-idiotic idea.
Enter Elon Musk.
Now, I don’t know Elon Musk personally. He doesn’t shop at my store (not enough Dogecoin accepted), and as far as I know, he has no vested interest in my cash register. But when I posted a desperate plea on social media asking for help in identifying the thief, something magical happened. Elon Musk, billionaire, tech mogul, and part-time Twitter troll, responded.
“Enhance,” he tweeted, followed by, “It was Steve from the gas station.”
Now, here’s the thing: Steve from the gas station is a known troublemaker. He once tried to pay for cigarettes with Monopoly money and regularly smells like expired milk. Could he be the thief? Possibly. But the real problem was that the world’s richest man just doxxed Steve on my behalf. The tweet went viral. Thousands of people chimed in, debating Steve’s guilt, my intelligence, and whether or not Elon Musk was secretly Batman.
At this point, a rational person would have thanked Elon for his unexpected detective work and let the authorities handle it. But no, I had to be me. And being me meant taking things to their illogical conclusion.
If Elon Musk knew who the thief was before the police did, then clearly, he was involved in the crime.
So I did what any reasonable person would do: I stormed into the police station and demanded that they arrest Elon Musk.
The officers stared at me as if I had just confessed to being an alien.
“You want us to arrest Elon Musk?” the sergeant repeated, his pen hovering over his notepad.
“Yes,” I said with conviction. “He knew who the thief was before anyone else. That’s suspicious. Maybe he masterminded the whole thing.”
One officer coughed, another checked his watch. The sergeant sighed. “Sir, do you have any actual evidence linking Mr. Musk to this crime?”
“Yes,” I declared, slamming my phone down on the table, displaying the infamous tweet. The officers leaned in. One stifled a laugh. The sergeant looked tired.
“This is… a tweet.”
“Exactly! He knew! Before the cops! How?!”
“Maybe he was joking?” the officer suggested.
“Or maybe he has an underground network of criminals and AI-powered surveillance drones that track every movement in the city,” I countered.
The silence in the room was deafening.
“Sir,” the sergeant finally said, rubbing his temples, “you are, without a doubt, the dumbest person to walk into this station today.”
“That’s what they said about Galileo,” I shot back.
“They also threw him in jail,” the sergeant said. “Which is what we’ll do if you waste any more of our time.”
Defeated but not broken, I returned to my store. The tweet was still going viral, with people now debating whether I was a comedic genius or a cautionary tale. Steve, the alleged thief, showed up at my door the next day, holding a bouquet of suspiciously wilted flowers.
“I didn’t rob your store, man,” he said, shoving the flowers into my hands. “I thought about it, but I was too high to follow through.”
It was a confession of sorts, but not the one I wanted.
In the end, the police never arrested Elon Musk. The internet moved on to some other scandal. And me? Well, I got a wave of new customers who wanted to take selfies with the “guy who tried to arrest Elon Musk.” Business was booming, so maybe I wasn’t such an idiot after all.
Or maybe I was. Either way, I was making money again. And that’s all that mattered.
