I don’t know man, when you think of a stoner you stereotypical think of food and TV, which in several cases can be right, it can also be very wrong. It all depends on the person who is smoking pot and what they like to do either on or off of the influence of marijuana.
I don’t know about you, but coming from Washington State, I knew some pretty responsible stoners. Some of whom even enjoyed cleaning their house while they were baked.
This is my story, a tiny little section of it, the night I was watching TV in another land before I realized I wasn’t even watching TV.
As a kid growing up in Nebraska during the 80’s and 90’s. Anti-drug commercials were shoved down my thought worse than a dictator in a foreign country telling you what you can or can not do.
Which, years later… is a bad idea, how are kids going to be able to believe that meth is bad when they smoke and figure out that marijuana is not as bad as you made it seem all these years?
I remember this cartoon with Bugs Bunny in it. And some black smokey looking figure dude, who must have been the villain. I watched this cartoon religiously as a kid, a small kid, must have been around the ages of five to eight, or somewhere in there.
This cartoon from what I remember was focused on a teenager, who must have been in high school, he was being forced by his friends to smoke pot. Being the late 80’s, the idea of forcing someone to take drugs was taken to the extreme. Because we all know, that’s what friends are for, to force us to do shit we don’t want to.
Hell that is why we have friends anyways, so we could be unhappy while being told what to do and when do to it.
Anyways, so I watched that cartoon and saw enough, “this is your brain on drugs,” to grow up thinking smoking pot was the worst thing anyone could do, worse than killing a child.
On aside, scrambled eggs are good dawg.
Years later I moved to Washington State, and as a sophomore in high school I witnessed my friend eating a laced cookie. A cookie that was cooked with marijuana for those of you that can not figure it out. As far as I know this was his first time with an eatable, or THC in general, which I didn’t know until he called me a week after.
From what I understand he didn’t believe his friends when they told him, “Hey man, only eat half of that and wait 30 minutes to figure out if you want the other half, that shit is laced man, I made it last night.” Him being a dumbass ate the whole thing.
Not knowing what it was supposed to feel like, or even his own tolerance, he had a massive case of green sickness. After he threw up in the middle of math class, he was picked up by an ambulance.
If you don’t know anything about pot, no he didn’t die, he didn’t overdose, he can’t even overdose if he wanted to, he just had too much of what his body wasn’t aware of.
This is where my story begins, because until this point in time I was not aware of how popular marijuana was among kids in high school. I didn’t start smoking until I graduated high school.
Two years after high school graduation, I had the opportunity to go 50 miles north of my town to a popular event, the most popular event of its kind in the whole country, Seattle Hempfest 2004. I did not really care, or see the need to go to Hempfest before this date in time. The only reason I went was because my favorite band, the Kottonmouth Kings, were taking the main stage that Sunday at 4:20.
Then, I not only learned a lot of information about the plant, but I came to see how popular it was among the adult audience as well. I was shocked to see not only the stereotypical high school stoners, but also the old geeky kids that grew up to make a lot of money, lawyers, retired police officers, and just about any other different type of stereotype in between.
From that point on I fell in love with the event and tried to go every year after that, but only made it to 2006, 2007, 2008, and 2010. I heard a speaker on stage say something that stuck with me, “I bought two grams a mouth ago, and I still have half of it left; just because you have it does not mean you need to smoke it, and many of you that believe that are giving stoners a bad name, and that my friends is why the media assumes we’re lazy people that watch TV all day.” After a short pause to gauge everyone’s reaction he continued with, “and believe me man, I love me some TV, but until we prove to them different, that is all they are going to think.”
The concert was before I knew where my happy medium was. I had many episodes of green sickness trying to find it. I assumed I was like everyone else, I figured my tolerance could not be any different than theirs. I was wrong, and it took me awhile to figure that out. I spent one day coming back home from the local college down the street, just to lay down on the floor in the fetal position, assuming that if I was on the floor and the TV was off that a cop would not come knocking on my door.
When I started smoking pot, in 2003, it was because of my own free will, my own doing. Sure, you can say a friend was involved, but it was my own doing of going up to one of my many friends saying, “Hey, man I’m bored as fuck, let’s go smoke some pot.” He was already a stoner, so it’s not like I was trying to force him to do it either.
Shorty after I stated smoking pot, my best friend, who lived on the other side of the block from me, had a friend, a friend who I ironically knew from high school, but someone I never talked to before. He was even friends with my other friends sister. My other friend never smoked pot, and now that he is married to a goody two-shoes, I don’t think he ever will, and I don’t really care if he does anyways. My point being, if Jason knew why his sister was hanging out with Joe he might know more about his sister.
Maybe he does now, especially sense he still lives in Washington State. But Jason has very little do to with this story, although his sister Danielle was fucking hot.
I found out why Joe was so popular, he was the kid that had weed. Hell my sister used to hang out there back in the day too. It was weird to me to meet someone I never talked to though someone else that I talked to almost every day.
Eric looked at me one day and said, “Hey man, I know this spot, it’s totally chill.” I looked at him while sitting in the drivers seat of my black 1992 Acura Integra, “You sure we cool to go?”
“Yea man, your with me and shit, he’ll be cool with it.”
Here we go, a twenty and a nineteen year old in a black car driving to a unknown location-unknown to me at least. I’m driving by my old high school on a dark Friday night as he says, “yea man, it that neighborhood at the end of this street.”
I knew what he was talking about, I drove by it everyday on the way home. And I knew Puyallup like the back of my hand, my dad took me on some pointless and repetitious drives when I was learning how to drive.
We pull up to this house and at that time in my life I could walk with the help of a friend shoulder. I still needed help, but not as much as I do eleven years later. We get downstairs and I looked into Joe’s eyes with a shocked look as Eric is saying, “Hey Joe, this is Daniel,” all Joe did was look up at me and say “Yep,” as he was loading another bong hit. After looking at him for awhile I was like, “Hey man, I know you, kind of,” the only thing Joe did was look at me with a lighter in one hand and a bong in the other, “Yep.”
I think Joe was kinda taken back that I was at his house, he might have been thinking to himself, “Oh, shit, look at that man, it’s the handicapped dude, in my house, what the fuck.” But after talking to Eric in a low volume, I can only assume what was being said, he opened up to me. Joe actually turned out to be one hell of a smart dude.
We sit down his his room, Eric and Joe being on the other side of the room as we pass the bong back and forth. Joe could tell that this was my first time smoking out of a bong when I attempted to smoke a bong as if I was trying to give some dude a blowjob.
After getting stoned and sitting there for what seemed to be a good thirty minutes I started zoning out by listening to Joe and Eric talk about whatever they were talking about. Eric was playing a unplugged bass guitar as Joe was playing a unplugged six string guitar.
I sat there watching this like I was a kid glued into a cartoon. I was so interested in this conversation, that I could not hear, it was like I was making some sort of a profound scientific discovery. I could not hear what they were saying because there was music playing in the background, quiet enough to hear one another from across the room if we were talking to one another, but loud enough that I was unable to distinguish what was being said by two people that were two feet away from one another.
I never heard this type of music before, but I should have taking into account of where I was geographically located on the planet Earth. For some reason I assumed this music came from India. In my state of mind that I was in it made sense to me, and the more you think about something the more it becomes true, even if what you’re thinking about is false.
I was so intent in their conversation that the music that was being played just seemed like the background music that was playing just because the two of them were talking. I don’t know what it is about me getting stoned, I’m better at it now because my body knows what it is looking for. Although I have not smoked pot in two years. I got to the point where I get so paranoid about someone I know telling my employer that I just don’t have fun anymore. I think about a random UA more that I enjoy my current surroundings. I know I could most likely get away with it, even if I tell myself beforehand, “Daniel, you’re fine, they are not going to give you a drug test just because you visited Washington State”.
Back in the day when I just got into smoking pot, if I was focused too intently on something, I went into this thing where I thought I was watching a TV show.
“What the weather in India going to be like tomorrow?”
They both look at me as if something unbelievable happened, they even looked at one another and had a short laugh before they addressed me.
Eric looked at me and said, “Fuck man, I don’t know.”
“Well isn’t that your job.”
“Your job man.”
I stopped and realized I was talking to a TV, or at least what I thought was a TV, and this TV was talking back to me. I thought to myself, “What the fuck,” before I said what I said next.
“Dude, you guys are like two fucking news reporters from India and shit, but you’re fucking white.”
Eric looked at Joe, Joe had a flabergasted look on his face while Eric said, “Its cool man, he does this shit.”
Eric knew what I was thinking, kind of, and goes onto ask me questions because he was curious of how I got to this train of thought I was on.
I remember saying, “Man, I was expecting a weather forecast.”
“Why India though?”
“The music man”
“What about it”
“It sound all Indian type and shit”
Joe and Eric looked at one another, Eric was laughing as Joe had a look on his face like he could not believe I was this stupid.
Joe looked at me and said, “Do you know who Jimi Hendrix is?”
“Yeah, but I never heard this song”
Eric looked back at Joe and said, “Don’t worry about it man, I’ll introduce him to Jimi man.”
After paying attention, this music didn’t even remotely sound like it would stereotypically come from India. Why I thought it did was beyond me.
The last thing Eric said to me before I dropped him off at home that night was, “Jimi Hendrix is buried in Renton man.” Being in Washington State, and being a minimal fan of Classic Rock, I can’t believe I didn’t know that.