In the mist of a smoky haze due to endless about of marijuana and incense sticks being burned over the duration of the day sits Jack; a 21 year old, drug dealer. He sits transfixed to Call of Duty, only satisfied with head-shots, nothing else will do. The sound of his doorbell rings throughout the house, Jack doesn't acknowledge it and stays entranced by his soaring death-toll. Some murmurers can be made out over the sound of rapid gun fire blasting out from the TV speakers, then slow thuds as someone walks upstairs, finally there's a knock on Jack's door.
“Come in,” Jack shouts, “unless you're the police, in that case fuck off, please.” without glancing away from the game for even a nanosecond.
A young lad enters, around the same age as Jack, but with a massively contrasting demeanour; his hair is slicked back, his clothes are freshly pressed, he's a very presentable young man, the type of guy over-protective parents wish their daughters would eventually marry.
”I am Joshua,” he says gently, “your house-mate let me in.” Joshua speaks with an utterly middle-class accent, pronouncing every word perfectly. He has one of those voices that makes a working-class person want to punch him square in the face for no reason other than the annoying tone that oozes out of his posh cake-hole. Joshua looks over the bedroom he has just entered, seemingly disgusted by the state of it. He slowly makes his way over to Jack, cautiously stepping by plates encrusted in undistinguishable meals dating back weeks and balled up tissue paper filled with expelled love juice. “I am under the impression that you sell...” Joshua pauses for a moment, unsure of how to finish off the sentence, he braces himself, and whispers; “... marijuana.”
“You would be correct in your assumption”, says Jack in a slightly mocking tone. Joshua doesn't pick up on this fact.
“How wonderful, well I would like to purchase some please.”
“OK, what are you after?” asks Jack, eyes still glued to the massacre unfolding on his television screen.
“Marijuana, please.” responds Joshua, completely misunderstanding the question.
“No, what weight are you after, as in; how much?”
“Oh heavens,” Joshua says as he wrestles his wallet from his back pocket, opens it to inspect the wod of cash inside, “I' would like to spend £40, please.”
“So it's a quart you're after?”
“Yes please, a quart, please.”
“OK mate, just give me a … ” Jack trails off, “YOU FUCKING CUNT!” he bellows.
Joshua almost jumps out of his skin, he quickly scans the room again and attempts to configure the safest and fastest escape route from Jack's city skip of a bedroom. Jack frantically bashes the buttons on his Playstation pad to no avail, he tosses the pad to his floor, it knocks over a nearby bong and filthy bong water gathers in a puddle on his carpet. Jack stands and turns to look at Joshua.
“So it's a quart, then mate?”
Joshua takes a deep breath, “Yes, please.”
Jack makes his way over to his set of drawers that are buried under a pile of clothes, clearly he may have mastered Call of Duty but the complexed understanding of how drawers work is beyond him. He slides open the top draw and begins to rummage around until he pulls out a bag of weed. He turns and passes it to Joshua. Joshua begins to inspect the bag, then he pulls out a handful of jiffy bags himself, all of which are empty and bundles them into Jack's palm.
“I only take cash, mate.” Jack says, slightly bemused by Joshua's actions.
“Oh, yes, of course. But I simply thought that these would be beneficial to you, in your line of work. You could re-use them, recycle them even, as a way to help save the Earth.” Joshua explains.
“OK mate. I'll keep that in mind, I'll just add them to my recycling centre.” Jack says as he tosses the bags onto an already over flowing bin.
Joshua continues to inspect the bag. Feeling as if the deal is not actually going to happen Jack explains that the quality of the weed is second to none.
“It's some of the best stuff I've had in for a long time. Guaranteed to get you high. It's Thai Stick.” he says, with all the gusto of a desperate second hand car salesman.
“It does seem to be some of the finest marijuana I have come across to date,” Joshua pauses, as if he's mustering up the courage to ask something, “I was just wondering, is it really from Thailand?”
Jack looks bemused by the question, it's not the type of question he's used to hearing, usually customers want to know the weight and that's about it. Drug dealing is simple, it's all supply and demand, customer services doesn't really come into it that often.
“I'm unsure, mate. I just get it from my guy, who gets it from someone else. It's best to not go around asking questions when you're dealing with drugs.”
“Oh, I see, so you would not know if it was organic?” asks Joshua.
“It's is orgasmic, mate, I can guarantee that.”
“No, you seem to have misunderstood; is it organic? Is it grown without pesticides? I'm currently on an all organic diet and that includes my drugs too.”
Clearly getting slightly irked by the onslaught of questioning, Jack finally folds; “I'll just call up my contact, he'll know.”
Jack begins to look around for his phone, by kicking up bits of rubbish scattered around his room, in the end he unearths it from under an overturned ashtray. He picks it, scrolls through his phone book and hits call.
“Hey, it's Jack. I have a customer here that wants to know about the Thai Stick, I've got in.”
“What the fuck does he wanna know?” utters Jack's contact, luckily not loud enough for Joshua to hear.
“He's askin' if it's organic?”
“You fuckin' what? Tell the cunt to go suck some organic balls!” screams the voice.
“Alright mate,” says Jack, with a smile on his face.
Jack hangs up the phone and pushes it into his pocket. He puts a fake smile on his face.
“He clarified the situation perfectly, you have nothing to worry about, it's organic.” lies Jack.
“That is a weight off of my shoulders.”
Joshua begins to make his way to the door and Jack feels revealed that this ordeal is almost at an end. Before reaching the door Joshua stops.
“I was just wondering, by any chance do you sell cocaine?” asks Joshua.
“Well... ” says Jack, before he draws out a speech that he's probably said a million time before, “... I don't usually, but I do happen to have some in at the minute, one bag left, in fact. It'd be another £40 though.”
It's a well known fact that if you fool the customer into believing they're getting the last deal they'll take it, as this opportunity may not arise again.
“That is perfectly fine.” agrees Joshua as he once again begins to tangle with his wallet.
Jack goes back to the dresser, this time he delves into the bottom drawer and rummages around, finally retrieving a wrap of coke. The two exchange the money and the drugs.
“Oh, and don't worry mate.” says Jack, fearing he knows what's coming, “That coke is most definitively organic.”
“That is both brilliant and reassuring to know.” says Joshua.
Jack places his hand on Joshua's shoulder and slowly guides him to his bedroom door.
“I hope you enjoy the drugs.” he says as he opens the door for his customer and slowly guides him over the threshold.
“Oh, just one more inquiry,” Joshua spouts, Jack's face drops instantly, “is this cocaine fairtrade?”
“Well, I supply the drugs, you supply the money, then we trade. I'd say that was more than fair.”
Interrupting, Joshua states; “Oh heavens, I think you may have misunderstood the question …”
Jack swings the door shut, leaving Joshua in the hall. He then bolts it.
“Thanks, come again soon.” Jack shouts at the door.
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