11th grade I took a horticulture class. T he class was taught by Mr. Sanderson who was a “bit of a hippie.” Not quite to the bit of wearing sandals all the time, but close.
Anyway, in the class we had a project of growing a plant for the semester. I don’t remember what I chose. But I do remember what Mark Humphrey chose; you guessed it, pot.
He kept it hidden behind a wall of other plants in a corner of the greenhouse.
Mark was your proto-typical late ‘90’s heavy metal lovin’ teenager, with the denim jacket with the Iron Maiden patch on the back.
One fine spring afternoon Mr. Sanderson called Mark up to his desk and the following conversation took place:
Mr. S: "Mark, I found your plant, and well, there’s a problem. Y’a see Mark, you were growing a marijuana plant, which is a bad thing. You did a very good job taking care of it, I’ll give you that, but, well Mark, it’s illegal to grow marijuana in Maryland, let alone grow it on school grounds. Do you understand what “I’m saying, Mark?”
Mark: “Yeah.”
Mr. S: Now, Mark, I’m afarid I’m going to have to really downgrade you for the project. I’m not going to fail you for it, but I’m going to have to give you a 60, ok?"
Mark: “Yeah, that’s cool, Can I have my plant?”
Mr. S: “No Mark, I’m going to smoke it.”