Jake has smoked his fair share of reefer. Maybe a bit more than a fair share. Yesterday, I decided that it’s time for me to quit the smoking of the reefer. I am getting too old and it is getting too old. So, yesterday I took my last hit. About an hour ago I searched my apartment for any pipe, grinder or bag that might have some remaining pot dust. Epic fail. This is going to be rough.
I am sitting here reminiscing about my crack head years and it made me think about all my dealers from years past and how I came to know them. Ahhh memories.
First, let me say that I used to just be a casual smoker. Smoke with friends, smoke whatever I could get my hands on, but rarely did I have my own stash and definitely did not have a dealer. This all changed one day when my next door neighbor, a woman who I had intentionally avoided for several months in the tradition of NYC, got drunk and forced her way into my apartment and my life. We had previously wondered how the only two negroes in the building ended up on the same floor across the hall from each other, but after spending some time together we realized how much we had in common and that it was probably God and not the racists apartment managers that made us neighbors.
One thing we had in common? We both liked to smoke pot on occasion, but had nowhere to get any. So, began the friendship and the thing that would bond us for years: weed and ridiculousness. We immediately began trying to figure out how to get some reefer. Anyone who knows us must know exactly where we would start, right? The doorman!!!
It was a drunken night when she convinced me that the path to a weed man started with the doorman. Afterall, the doorman was common folk there to do whatever we wanted, so the question seemed reasonable and perfectly natural even, so long as it was me and not she who placed the call. In the end it worked. We ended up with Shabba! That’s such a fitting name for a drug dealer don’t you think? Shabba was one of those Africans that’s not really cute, but ridiculously hot? Okay, this one wasn’t ridiculously hot, but I (we- admit it bitch) wanted to bang him. He was an okay guy, but he didn’t last very long. The theory goes that he got locked up because his number stopped working.
Then came the dude after Shabba. Don’t know his name, but he was the sequel in the series of doorman supplied weed men. This time, neighbor and I decide that it’s probably best to ask the Black doorman and not the Hispanic doorman because, well it just makes sense. This guy wasn’t cute, was shotty on the delivery and didn’t last very long. The theory goes that he too got locked up.
Ultimately, it was decided that doormen supplied dealers were not the most reliable source. First, they are minorities and thus prone to get locked up. Second, delivery gets delayed by inter-borough traveling. Third, they tend to nickel and dime you and I am too classy for that.
Then one brisk fall afternoon I happened to be shopping in the city with my main gay and we found this odd woman in a thrift store. She was a Sue Sylvester, Jackie from workout looking lesbian with tattoos and under-arm hair. Real scary. But some how we ended up talking about reefer and how organic reefer is better than regular. I told her I had quit smoking for a while to prove I wasn’t addicted, but she convinced me that I did not have an addiction, but instead had a habit. I was a habitual pot smoker. Whatevs lesbian, we left.
I get back home and explain the story to neighbor and she decides that this lady is the perfect person to solve our weed man problem. Thus the story of the EPIC JOURNEY!! The journey was epic because me and neighbor never left our apartment and when we did leave we didn’t go further than the dumplings store 3.5 blocks away. We had once considered going to the Bed, Bath & Beyond that was about 8 blocks away, but thought better of it. This would require that we travel over 6 blocks, but that included long avenues. Actually, it would require more than that because I had no idea where the thrift store was. It was nowhere near wear I originally thought so we ended up walking half way and then catching a cab, but in route we encountered a man skipping through traffic, another man banging on cars in traffic and a man who we were certain was a flasher. (Trench coat and no pants is not okay). In any event, the walk/cab ride seems like it took hours, but may have only taken minutes.
We show up at the thrift store only to find the giant lesbian lady with a giant killer parakeet on her shoulder. I thought we would die that very day by that bird. It made some crazy noises directed at me and I was convinced that the thing hated me because I was a man, but it could have been the bright ass shirt I was wearing. In any event, we would have to pretend shop for 20 minutes until the bird and its owner left the store leaving us a moment to ask ma’am for her weed contact.
It works. She gives us a number and says when you call say you got the number from Jane, and are friends of Sarah Lee. To this day we have no idea if Sarah Lee is a person (there are no damn Sarah Lees in NYC) or if that was code, but we called and said exactly what we were told. Weed man was there within the hour. But, you should have seen the crtackhead dance we did when we got the number. Can you picture me and neigbor literally arm in arm, dancing in circles in the middle of Chelsea? Well, picture it!!
To our surprise it was a old white man! He would deliver to us for over a year without incident and without delay. No small talk, no BS, just business. Although, once he asked to use my bathroom. Dude is like the Tiger Woods of drug dealing. I miss him. I will always miss him.
But alas, I moved away! To a small college town, which is known for having good weed and on my second day in town…I found myself a weed man. I figured I would just go to my local gay bar and find someone who looked like a pot head and go from there. That failed, but on my way out of the bar a man asked me if I wanted to drive around with him in his car and smoke a blunt. I literally gagged!!! I was like, ummm, excuse me sir? How dare you. I am not getting in a car with a strange man! But, I’ll walk and smoke witcha!
There’s so much more to this story, but this blog is already too long. Stay tuned for the completion of this story…
Love you, mean it!
I am sitting here reminiscing about my crack head years and it made me think about all my dealers from years past and how I came to know them. Ahhh memories.
First, let me say that I used to just be a casual smoker. Smoke with friends, smoke whatever I could get my hands on, but rarely did I have my own stash and definitely did not have a dealer. This all changed one day when my next door neighbor, a woman who I had intentionally avoided for several months in the tradition of NYC, got drunk and forced her way into my apartment and my life. We had previously wondered how the only two negroes in the building ended up on the same floor across the hall from each other, but after spending some time together we realized how much we had in common and that it was probably God and not the racists apartment managers that made us neighbors.
One thing we had in common? We both liked to smoke pot on occasion, but had nowhere to get any. So, began the friendship and the thing that would bond us for years: weed and ridiculousness. We immediately began trying to figure out how to get some reefer. Anyone who knows us must know exactly where we would start, right? The doorman!!!
It was a drunken night when she convinced me that the path to a weed man started with the doorman. Afterall, the doorman was common folk there to do whatever we wanted, so the question seemed reasonable and perfectly natural even, so long as it was me and not she who placed the call. In the end it worked. We ended up with Shabba! That’s such a fitting name for a drug dealer don’t you think? Shabba was one of those Africans that’s not really cute, but ridiculously hot? Okay, this one wasn’t ridiculously hot, but I (we- admit it bitch) wanted to bang him. He was an okay guy, but he didn’t last very long. The theory goes that he got locked up because his number stopped working.
Then came the dude after Shabba. Don’t know his name, but he was the sequel in the series of doorman supplied weed men. This time, neighbor and I decide that it’s probably best to ask the Black doorman and not the Hispanic doorman because, well it just makes sense. This guy wasn’t cute, was shotty on the delivery and didn’t last very long. The theory goes that he too got locked up.
Ultimately, it was decided that doormen supplied dealers were not the most reliable source. First, they are minorities and thus prone to get locked up. Second, delivery gets delayed by inter-borough traveling. Third, they tend to nickel and dime you and I am too classy for that.
Then one brisk fall afternoon I happened to be shopping in the city with my main gay and we found this odd woman in a thrift store. She was a Sue Sylvester, Jackie from workout looking lesbian with tattoos and under-arm hair. Real scary. But some how we ended up talking about reefer and how organic reefer is better than regular. I told her I had quit smoking for a while to prove I wasn’t addicted, but she convinced me that I did not have an addiction, but instead had a habit. I was a habitual pot smoker. Whatevs lesbian, we left.
I get back home and explain the story to neighbor and she decides that this lady is the perfect person to solve our weed man problem. Thus the story of the EPIC JOURNEY!! The journey was epic because me and neighbor never left our apartment and when we did leave we didn’t go further than the dumplings store 3.5 blocks away. We had once considered going to the Bed, Bath & Beyond that was about 8 blocks away, but thought better of it. This would require that we travel over 6 blocks, but that included long avenues. Actually, it would require more than that because I had no idea where the thrift store was. It was nowhere near wear I originally thought so we ended up walking half way and then catching a cab, but in route we encountered a man skipping through traffic, another man banging on cars in traffic and a man who we were certain was a flasher. (Trench coat and no pants is not okay). In any event, the walk/cab ride seems like it took hours, but may have only taken minutes.
We show up at the thrift store only to find the giant lesbian lady with a giant killer parakeet on her shoulder. I thought we would die that very day by that bird. It made some crazy noises directed at me and I was convinced that the thing hated me because I was a man, but it could have been the bright ass shirt I was wearing. In any event, we would have to pretend shop for 20 minutes until the bird and its owner left the store leaving us a moment to ask ma’am for her weed contact.
It works. She gives us a number and says when you call say you got the number from Jane, and are friends of Sarah Lee. To this day we have no idea if Sarah Lee is a person (there are no damn Sarah Lees in NYC) or if that was code, but we called and said exactly what we were told. Weed man was there within the hour. But, you should have seen the crtackhead dance we did when we got the number. Can you picture me and neigbor literally arm in arm, dancing in circles in the middle of Chelsea? Well, picture it!!
To our surprise it was a old white man! He would deliver to us for over a year without incident and without delay. No small talk, no BS, just business. Although, once he asked to use my bathroom. Dude is like the Tiger Woods of drug dealing. I miss him. I will always miss him.
But alas, I moved away! To a small college town, which is known for having good weed and on my second day in town…I found myself a weed man. I figured I would just go to my local gay bar and find someone who looked like a pot head and go from there. That failed, but on my way out of the bar a man asked me if I wanted to drive around with him in his car and smoke a blunt. I literally gagged!!! I was like, ummm, excuse me sir? How dare you. I am not getting in a car with a strange man! But, I’ll walk and smoke witcha!
There’s so much more to this story, but this blog is already too long. Stay tuned for the completion of this story…
Love you, mean it!
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1 comment:
Let's take a walk!
Glad to see you are back. Loves that you are now more free to post whatever you feel like...no more blue shirt stories though. But I think I like these new tales better. So are there hot college boys all around town?? I may have to visit sooner rather than later.
Call me!
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