Weird Encounters: My Garden Gnome Saved My Life
I never really understood what the big fuss over garden gnomes was. As far as decorative pieces for ones garden, a small, scary man statue would not be my top choice. That is, until, my gardening accident. I won’t get into it too much, but let’s just say yelling “rest in pieces motherfuckers” and hitting it as hard as you can with a gardening hoe is not the best way to get rid of a wasp’s nest.
Anyway, I woke up three hours later in the hospital with searing pain, and wasp stings all over my hands and face. The doctors told me that I was lucky. Apparently most people who whack wasps nests as hard as they can with gardening utensils are usually found post-mortem. The doctors told me that if it wasn’t for my friend who called the ambulance when he did, I’d be dead.
“That’s weird” I thought, like most people in their twenties who spend all of their disposable income on owning and maintaining a garden, and spend most of their nights huffing paint in said garden, I don’t have friends. Needless to say, when the doctor told me a friend had made the call I was perplexed. Little did I know that the magic was just starting.
I was released from the hospital the following day. I couldn’t wait to go home and do crystal. I walked into the kitchen, wasp sting cream in hand, when I saw a figure scurrying about. Thinking the wasps had gained sentience, and had called upon the queen wasp to come finish the job, I gummed some MDMA and grabbed my trusty gardening hoe.
Then the figure popped out, and it was my gnome. He gave me a wink, and through bites of magic paint cupcake (the gnomes favorite food) told me that each garden gnome is a guardian, but only those who are true of heart, and pure of intention can call upon the gnomes powers in times of trouble. He scurried back out to the garden, and took his rightful place between the rhubarb, and marijuana plants. I needed to process what I just saw, so I sat back, relaxed and took a deep breath of LSD vapor.
A couple of days later I entered rehab for my peyote addiction. I haven’t seen the gnome since, but sometimes late at night, after huffing a bunch of paint, if you listen carefully over the gusts of wind, and chittering of the garden creatures you can hear whistling. Some of you might say, “it was the drugs that made you hallucinate. The gnome wasn’t real.” Well, you know what I say to those people? Fuck you I don’t have a drug problem.