I've come close. I was smoking cannabis in my friends house and the Police came round looking for my friend's step-dad, but he honestly didn't give a **** about the weed we were smoking. At all. I've been caught shoplifting twice and I don't really know how I talked myself out of being charged or cautioned, but I did. On the flip-side, I've come close to talking myself into a cell on multiple occasions because I'm an ******** when I'm drunk, tbh.
The last thing I got away with was truly miraculous. I was drunk from whiskey and high from cocaine and absolutely full to the brim with false confidence. Somehow I thought I was invincible, like Neo from The Matrix if you will.
I asked a barman in a rough nightclub to change a fiver for me. The key here was that I asked him whilst he was stood near the open flap they use to access the area behind the bar. When he took the fiver from me, I followed him up to the till, and when he opened it, I pushed him to the floor and grabbed a handful of notes from the float. At this point you might be thinking I'm just a greedy bastard who got too desperate. No. I proceeded to throw the wad of notes up into the air, right over the people waiting to be served. I promptly exited area and left the club.
Problem was, in such a fragile state the fresh air really took it out of me, and the cigarette I lit up promptly sent my stomach into doing somersaults. I collapsed in a loading bay door, a few feet from the main entrance and I was shaken awake some time later by a Policeman. He asked me all sorts of questions, had me turn out my pockets, checked my wallet and tried to coerce me into a confession. There was no cash on me, because I kept none for myself. There were no cameras inside the club. None of the people behind the bar would come forward, because I'd made most of them £10 richer, and any who weren't fast enough to scoop up any of the cash confetti got a good show at the very least. Different, eh?
The Policeman was at a loss. To be fair, even from the start his efforts were somewhat half-hearted, like he didn't believe it was me. I hardly looked capable of standing up. He tried to gather a little more information, but none was forthcoming. I was somewhat anxious that they'd be enough evidence to bother arresting me. The barman could've just said that it was me who pushed him. He didn't see me actually do it, but I was concerned that he'd looked back up when he was on the floor to see me throw the cash into the air. However, I found out later, through the grape-vine, that on his way down to the floor he hit his head off one of the shelves underneath the bar that stores the glasses. It's probably the only reason my record is still clean.
Anyway, after Policeman left, people kept coming up to me and talking at me. I wish they didn't because this was when I started being sick on the floor next to me. I must've passed out, because I woke up when the club was closing up, and my t-shirt was covered in sick. I rang a taxi and went home. Since that night, I can count on one hand the amount of nights out I've had. Never drank whiskey since. Never sniffed cocaine since. By the grace of God, I got away with it, but if I was dumb and out-of-my-head enough to do something like this again, perhaps I would not be as lucky.