For about 3 years of my life, I had would could be described as a “drug problem.” Don’t worry, it was just pot, which is, as everyone knows not even a real “drug.” Nevertheless, when I realized that I was emotionless, poor and in danger, I quit. Emotionless because I was stoned all the time, poor because I spent all my money on pot and munchies, and in danger because I was selling pot to fund my habit, and dealing drugs is never safe.
A lot of people asked me why I quit smoking. Basically I did a lot of stupid shit when I was stoned. Granted, I do stupid shit while sober, but that’s only because I’m fucking crazy. Now, I’m sure you’re asking yourself what kind of crazy shit have you done while stoned that would make it so bad that you would quit? I’m glad you asked.
Halloween night, in the year two-thousand and one. It is a Thursday, or something, definitely a day, well, not a “day” but a “night,” but even though it’s after dark you wouldn’t call it “thursnight” right? Anyway, it’s Halloween night, and I’m very bored. I’m going to a Halloween party later in the evening, but that’s not for a few hours. I drive over to my brother’s apartment, and knock on the door. His meth-ed out roommate answers and blinks, which means that my brother is indeed there. (had he not been there, there would have been no blinking.)(duh)
I go inside, and we have the most insane blunt between us. The pot was green where it should be green, it had orange hairs and giant crystals and we smoked the fucking blunt. Then we thought it would be a fantastic idea to drive home and see mom for some food.
Mom was there, and nothing really happened aside from my brother and I walking in and saying hello to her, but for some reason I could not stop laughing. This caused my brother to laugh uncontrollably as well, and this, oddly enough made my mom break down into hysterics, so much so that between her asking us “what is so funny?” and “tell me why we’re laughing,” she was almost in tears.
The three of us stood in the dining room of our apartment and laughed, about nothing for a solid 10 minutes. And then she made me do the dishes. I broke 3 plates and 1 cup, and I found that to be the cat’s pyjamas. I broke only two of the plates and the cup on accident. The last plate was still dirty, and I forgot what glass sounded like when it broke, so I threw it onto the floor.
This was about 4 months after I had been formally “caught.” When the third dish broke, my mom came into the kitchen and asked me how many drugs I smoked. This killed me. I was trying to think of a lie before my smile actually wrapped around my entire skull, but I think what really clued her in is when my brother started singing from the living room. “greg is stoned, greg is stooooooooned.”
The worst part about getting caught the second time was that my mom made me soup because she knew that I would be hungry and thirsty and lazy, and in trouble… so why not give me my last meal.
It was the best soup ever.
But I think the worst thing I’ve ever done while under the influence of marijuana (scientific name: cannibus sativa, active ingredient: THC) was when I got caught the first time. I was on the golf team at the time, and, to be quite honest, I only stayed on the team to give me somewhere to smoke, and something nice to do while I was stoned. The golf course provided the place, and the nice long walk with a bunch of shiny shit was pretty cool too.
I would smoke every day at golf practice. Some days a bit more, some days a bit less, on the day in question, I had smoked a lot more. So when I went home and tried to enact my normal routine, things did not quite work out as they usually did..
First, I missed my parking spot. We had assigned parking, mine was supposed to be on the end of the row, I parked three spots to the right, which was a handicapped spot. Add to that the fact that my car was crooked and about two feet short of the parking pyramid that stops the car from running into the wall, and we had a genuine situation. Second, when I went in to sit in my lazy boy which was a mere 4 feet from my tv screen, I failed to remove my backpack or my shoes. And finally, and what I believe to be the nail in the coffin was the fact that I forgot to turn the tv on; as I’d usually take off my golf shoes to drive home, park in my spot, take off my regular shoes and leave them in the kitchen, and go watch TV in my bedroom.
So when my father comes home to see my car in the handicapped spot, rushes in to tell me because the tow truck is there, follows the footprints to my bedroom and sees me, I am laughing at a television that has no picture or sound. I was as surprised as he was when he asked what I was laughing at; I could have sworn there were pictures on the screen the millisecond before he entered. But there weren’t.
I was so stoned I don’t even remember if I got in trouble or not, but it doesn’t matter, I’m over that shit now. All it means to me now is stories and a better understanding of the films half baked and how high.