Greensboro’s Most Wanted: The Bushes That Time Forgot” 🌿🚔
It was a quiet morning in Greensboro when an official-looking white truck rolled up in front of Nicky Smith’s home. A city code compliance officer, clipboard in hand, squinted suspiciously at a row of towering bushes swaying gently in the breeze. He took a deep breath, adjusted his badge, and marched to the front door like a man on a mission.
Knock, knock.
Nicky answered the door with the same warm demeanor he always had, but something about how the compliance officer stood—feet planted, chin raised, the faintest glimmer of bureaucratic excitement in his eyes—told him this visit was about to be… interesting.
“Sir, we have received a complaint about… these bushes,” the officer said, motioning dramatically toward the towering greenery.
Nicky raised an eyebrow. “You mean those bushes? The ones that have been standing there since Harry Truman was in office?”
The officer nodded solemnly, flipping through his papers. “Yes. According to my records, these bushes have become a compliance issue.”
“Well, that’s interesting,” Nicky said, crossing his arms. “Because according to history, these bushes were planted by the fine folks of Hamilton Lakes back when this area was its own township. The City of Greensboro didn’t even own this land at the time.”
The officer frowned. “Be that as it may, we are very concerned about their… tallness.”
Nicky tried to suppress a laugh. “Tallness?”
“Yes,” the officer replied, flipping a page. “An anonymous complaint—filed by someone who may or may not be named Nancy, Sharon, or another Nancy—suggests these bushes pose a potential public hazard.”
“A hazard to what?” Nicky asked. “Birds with vertigo?”
The officer ignored the comment. “I have been instructed to investigate whether these bushes are in violation of city code. And if they are—” he paused for dramatic effect, “we may have no choice but to hold you responsible.”
Nicky took a deep breath. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that after seventy years of peaceful bush existence, only now—right as I’m running for city council—someone has decided they’re an issue?”
The officer coughed. “It’s just a coincidence, I’m sure.”
“Uh-huh,” Nicky said, shaking his head. “What’s next? Are you going to cite me for the curvature of the street? Fine me because the wind is blowing in the wrong direction?”
The officer sighed and tapped his pen against his clipboard. “Look, Mr. Smith, I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them.”
“That’s funny,” Nicky said. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like someone is making up the rules as they go.”
The officer pursed his lips. “I’ll have to file a report and get back to you.”
As the compliance officer trudged back to his truck, Nicky couldn’t help but shake his head. The bushes had stood there, undisturbed, through a dozen city councils, countless hurricanes, and at least five different styles of men’s sideburns. But somehow, now—as election season heated up—they were suddenly the greatest threat to Greensboro since an unlicensed lemonade stand.
With a chuckle, Nicky pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the “offending” bushes. If nothing else, at least he’d have a campaign slogan ready:
“Vote Nicky Smith—Because If They’re Coming for the Bushes, They’re Coming for You Next.”