Launie and I went out tonight to grab a case of soda. As we’re standing in line at Rosauers, the cashier suddenly darts from the register. Price check, needed change, who knows. Not unusual, we have this weird ability to always pick the register that’s going to have some kind of issue. If there’s an old lady trying to use a twenty year old travelers check and needs a manager approval or some dude who wants a price chceck on 57 cans of cat food, that’s our line. Never fails.
The guy in front of us, who’s the sole reason for the currently checkerless situation, turns to Launie, “Sorry man. Guy’s gotta have his beer. You know what I mean, right?” The guy seems friendly, but since I’m sans makeup and could possibly be mistaken for a transient, I try to avoid eye contact and turn to my phone. Launie can do the chatting.
When we finally get out to the car, there’s a car parked right next to us. Beer Guy from the checkstand leans out the window, “Do you guys smoke?”
Trying to be polite, I say I don’t have any on me…which is totally true, I didn’t. Figured he wanted to bum a cigarette and by telling him I didn’t have any should get me out of the situation, because, of course, he’s parked on my side of the car.
“Oh no, I wasn’t asking for one. I wanted to give you guys some!” Why does this guy want to give me cigarettes?
Launie, who’s much quicker on the uptake than me says, “No thanks, I don’t smoke.” Ok, so he’s lying to the guy for the sake of politeness, I get it. Unfortunately that ship has sailed for me since I just told him that I didn’t have any on me, which implies that other times I do. Crap.
Predictably, Beer Guy turns to me, “What about you?” He begins rooting around in a small plastic bag and the realization washes over me that we aren’t talking about cigarettes. Crap.
Before I can object he presses a small green bug into my hand. “It’s the good stuff. I promise. I work in a smoke shop!” Visibly happy with his good deed he flashes me a satisfied smile and drives off. Not sure of what to do next I get into the car, fascinated with the little pile of tangled dried greens.
“What are you doing?” Launie asked as he put the car in drive. Admittedly, I’d only ever seen this stuff in baggies…in someone else’s hand. Pot is legal in Washington. I have no issue with it; I just wouldn’t want to smoke it myself. I’m weird enough without help.
“Looking at it.”
“I figured you would have tossed it by now.”
I would have…but I didn’t want Beer Guy to see it. If it’s really the “good stuff” I’d hate to hurt his feelings by disposing of it where he could see. “It smells kinda bad…like…ugh. Like a skunk.”
In a matter of what seemed like seconds, the smell increased exponentially with every passing second. Soon, the skunk smell filled the car. I’m looking around to see if Beer Guy is anywhere where he can see me and Launie is starting to complain about the smell. “Get that out of here!” I felt panicked. Could I get high from breathing this in? Ugh, it smells so bad. What am I doing? I can’t take this home, the house will reek!
Without thinking I hurled the little green stink bomb out of the car into some unsuspecting suburbanites’ lawn.
At this point the car smells like pot, I smell like pot, and I’m worried that a squirrel will find it and eat it. Can squirrels get high?
Omg. If it’s true that pot is a “gateway drug” then what next?
This is all my fault.
Before you know it, he’ll be partaking in other unsavory activities to support his habit…