Part 1: The Old Timey Quest
Fifteen years ago, when my responsibilities were fewer, my Friday nights were often consumed with one mission: secure the necessities of a “good time.” The actual activity for the evening was inconsequential. Method of transportation? No matter, there’s always a cab. There was only one essential question to be answered “do we have weed?” After a long week the answer was almost inevitably something like “no” or “not enough.” And so, the search begins…
The first step, the dreaded cold calls. This is where you comb through your flip phone beginning with the least awkward person to ask and ending with that sort ominous friend of a friend that always has some off-putting side request just so he has the joy of messing with a stranger. Throughout this phase you call anyone and follow any leads necessary in order to achieve your goal: acquisition. When the fumbling phone calls are over and you’ve finally found some random person to “help you out” you then begin the quest phase of your mission. You drive to a somewhat sketchy location, worry about your personal safety and enter a residence that is somehow is always the same.
Immediately you’re faced to face with an inanimate yet terrifying object- yes, it’s a door. Do I knock? How hard do I knock? Is this the right door? Why isn’t there a sign? And then after a tentative knock (or two) arrives what I call “the sedated minion” this is the person that does little errands for “the guy with the stuff.” This minion always seems half awake and yet somehow vaguely threatening. A sedated minion is like a sleeping cart, you figure they’re pretty safe (I mean they are asleep) but you just can’t quite trust it. You, are most definitely not sitting next to that cat!
Entering through what is usually a sort-of broken, too springy screen door you immediately turn right to traverse a rail-less stair case. You breathe in what can only be described as “animal-like” smells and enter a room decorated in a sort-of psychedelic, eclectic maximalist style that is simultaneously cacophonic and gross. In one corner you likely find a large glass case that houses some variety of scaly creature, a snake or a lizard—maybe “the guy” is a little classy and he’s got a fish tank with piranhas (so chic). You don’t know where to sit and honestly, you’re not sure you really want to anyway.
Now enter Don G, AKA “the guy.” The— detached, permanently distracted, partially shirtless and maybe kind of hot if he showered—guy. And now, you dance the dance… There’s no “how can I help you,” I mean clearly you just came to hang with this stranger for the pure joy of it. Do you ask? Does he? After some forced conversation you finally get what you came for and resist the urge to sprint out of there. Instead, you glance at you watch and budget a respectful fifteen minute courtesy period in which you have to hang out before your actual evening begins. Who invented this strange ritual? Is there a finishing school I should have attended? It’s one of the great mysteries of human etiquette.
After all this preamble you exit and realize that the evening has begun with out you. Your pursuit has left you exhausted and a night outside your home is an unwelcome proposition. Less than an hour later you are home, your gaggle of co-pilots on this mission follow you to the couch hot pizza, bag of chips and gas station cupcakes in hand. You all sit and decide to delay gratification, that pizza and those snacks will be soooo much better when we are nicely, cozily toasted.
Two hours later a South Park episode plays on, a pizza box remains open and three happy stoners snooze communally, having successfully secured their “good time.”
This is how it used to be, the pursuit was a Tolkienian adventure-an astonishingly time-consuming quest where you faced any number of odd characters and sometimes even mortal danger. Now, many years and many responsibilities later I am returning to this pursuit; but this time I don’t have to search the depths of Mordor and someone is saying “how can I help you?” In essence, I am a tourist that now has a guide. I have enlisted my friends at Creator’s Choice to guide me on an odyssey that will explore what the modern world of weed has to offer. But more importantly, I’m anxious to know more about the people that make up the modern marijuana industry. Is “the guy” in his basement now “the guy behind the counter?” Has Grandma made the switch from wine to weed?
Each week join me as we explore a different aspect of the weed world with a tourist’s eye.
Until next week, I’m looking forward to hearing your stories. Do you have any strange or funny stories about your pursuit? Comment below or email me at shawn@172.105.20.228. Good times!
