The thing is dealing with dealers is a double edged sword. In no way am I saying that any of the dealers I’ve come in contact with have ever been threatening, no I’d take a threatening dealer over the over-friendly dealer. Look at it like this, a drug dealer is providing a service; money exchanges hands and then I get my drugs. That is of course were it should end. But just lately I have started to pick up my ‘medication’ from someone else, whom seems to think that when I call him asking; “You got any weed?” I actually mean; “I want to buy some weed from you and smoke it with you.” This is certainly not the case. MY MONEY, MY DRUGS!
I recently went to pick up and then got invited into the dealer’s house. I had to accept, it’s a good idea to stay on the good side of a person that supplies you with what you want. I thought I’d be simple enough, chill out for 5-10 minutes then I’ll get on my way. We entered his bedroom, it was littered with sweet packets, crisp packets, empty Pot Noodles; it looked as if a fat child had run a mock in a sweet shop. I took a seat and spotted a kettle next to the bed. I got the feeling that this guy hadn’t left this room in a while. The dealer went on to offer me a joint, I accepted, like I said; it’s important to stay on their good side. The dealer than asked me to chip in some weed for the joint, which is quite peculiar, I mean, he is a dealer after all. He was the one offering a spliff to me, not vice versa. Bartenders don’t pour you a pint and then drink half of it. Employees at supermarkets don’t help themselves to the items you’ve just purchased. Therefore a drug dealer shouldn’t be asking his customers for marijuana, it’s a complete role reversal of the relationship of dealer and customer.
Of course I had to give him some, as it’s a vital to stay on the good side of people that sell you your drugs. So he rolled it up, lit it and hit it and hit it and hit it and hit it … this went on for sometime until it finally reached my grasp. As every stoner knows there are unwritten rules to smoking a joint and the number of tokes per person varies from group to group, but from my extensive experience the average number is about three, maybe a couple more if you’re lighting it so you can get it burning correctly. This dealer was hitting the joint so much I thought it’d had fucked his girlfriend. Anyway, I had the joint and had my tokes and passed it back. I was tempted to have some extra to balance out the average but I’m stooped in stoner tradition and like to come across as not being a filthy, greedy bastard. So I passed it back, the dealer reverted back to smoking loads. Sometime passed and I noticed that the joint had been in the ashtray for a while without him picking it up again, by now he was transfixed by his laptop. This was kind of infuriating, as I didn’t want to be there, yet I’d stayed to be friendly and stay on his good side and I was being ignored. He didn’t need me there; all that was happening was what would have been happening if I wasn’t there. I was literally wasting my time. This guy had taken my money, asked for my weed and was now consuming my time. What else was he expecting me to give? My ass virginity? One of my kidneys? My first born child?
I glanced over to the now unlit joint in the ashtray, after being left on it’s own for too long it’d gone out due to neglect. I wondered if I should leave it for him to finish and get on my way, but I was starting to get annoyed at the prospect that I’d been cheated in this situation and I at least deserved a few more tokes, so I took the spliff, re-lit it and hit it. I passed it back to him, as he remained glued to his laptop and put it into the ashtray for it to go out again. Silence descended. I was about to inform him of my departure, when he asked; “Hey, how about you skin one up and we’ll have two going at the same time?” I was shocked. I just thought; ‘Two at the same time? You’re not even smoking the first one?’ I respectfully declined the offer of sharing more of my weed with the person I bought if from. This was it, I had to leave.
Not to sound rude for leaving I said I had to be off for some bullshit reason; got to meet someone at 6.00pm. It was 5.50pm, so I knew this was a good plan. But not good enough for the dealer; “Let me just show you this…” he turned his laptop to me and began to show me some unfamiliar music making program, which I didn’t care for. I love music, but making music seems like a long and drawn out process that I don’t want to be part of never mind watching another individual embarking on it. I watched while mindlessly complementing in a hope that it would get me out the door sooner. No such luck. I kept glancing at my watch. It was 5.58pm. I’d already said I was meeting someone at 6.00pm that was my definite cut off point. I mentioned it again and begin to stand up. Then I had to pull off some of the most fast-paced lying I had ever achieved, some of the quick-fire response lies that men usually only have to disperse in an argument with a lover or in a police interrogation room.
Me: “Look man, I’ve really gotta be off. It’s almost six.”
Dealer: “Who you meeting?”
I wasn’t meeting anyone, but I had to lie, couldn’t say a mate or he’d want to come, so I went for …
Me: “The girlfriend.”
Dealer: “Where?”
Me: “From work, she finishes in a minute, I’m gunna be late and she’ll be pissed.”Dealer: “Let me finish off this joint and I’ll give you a ride.”
I had to get out of this. Me: “But I came on my bike.”
There’s no way my bike could fit in his car.
Dealer: “You can come back for it tomorrow.”
The thought of coming back sent a shiver down my spine.Me: “But I have work in the morning. I need to bike it to work, so I just better be off.”
Dealer: “Alright then mate. See you soon.”
And I left, relieved, like a man that’d just served a murder sentence for a crime he didn’t commit. The weed was good, it was on weight and a decent enough strain, but the strain put on me to secure the marijuana and to preserve the vital bond between dealer and customer was too much.
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