What is it? Weird.

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Okay, this is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.

Setting: 4th and Hennepin. To anyone who isn’t familiar with downtown Minneapolis, this is that special corner. Every state has a few. It’s that corner that always smells. And there’s always people walking by, so you’re never really scared. But at night, on that corner, even with everyone around, you feel incredibly wary. Cuz somehow you just know somethin’s gonna happen.

Cast

Me: Slightly brain-addled after spending some time with my friends and a drug cocktail (Bloody Mary Jane: half-liter of vodka, several bongloads of jane. Add tomatoe juice if you feel it’s necessary. Stir. Enjoy. Not for use at conventional cocktail parties).

John Doe: Some guy, never found out his name. Black, about 5’4", and really stocky. And this huge freakin’ smile that seemed to make his whole face shine like a stoplight.

I’m standing here, waiting for the bus, when he walks up to me.

JD: Heeeeey! What’s up man?

ME: Not much.

JD: Man, I just got some bomb fuckin’ weed from this Jamaican guy I know.

ME: Yeah?

I’m trying to decide whether I know him or not. Because he’s acting like he knows me.

JD: Yeah man. Kine buds. You want some?

So I realize it. This guy’s trying to sell me drugs. Now I’m back on familiar territory.

ME: Nah man, I’m cool.

And I am. I’ve just come to the point where I’m finally cooling off from twenty-four hours of blasting.

JD: Aw c’mon man! Here, check this out. I’ll hook up a little mix for you.

My stomach roils at the word “mix”, as he takes a cigarette out and empties the end. Then takes out a small baggy of an unmistakable substance, and stuffs some of it into the cigarette. He hands it to me, along with a lighter.

JD: Smoke up, man!

Usually I find mixing marijuana with tobacco to be offensive almost to the point of sacrilege. But, free is free.

ME: Alright, cool.

I light up, puff a bit, trying to ignore the disgusting taste of menthol tobacco. I’m a bit paranoid that somebody might smell it. But it doesn’t smell like anything but tobacco. Eventually I get down to the point where it’s just tobacco and chuck it, vowing to myself that I will never smoke menthol again.

JD: Good shit, huh?

ME: Um, yeah.

I’m not actually sure. Smoking weed at this point would be about as effective as throwing popcorn at a tank.

JD: Yeah, I smoked some yeaterday. Knocked my ass flat. Here, check this.

He hands me the bag and tells me to squeeze it. I do, and they’ve got to be the lightest, fluffiest buds I’ve ever felt.

JD: Give it a whiff, man.

I open it up and smell. Oregano. It smells like an Italian kitchen. The weird thing is, I’ve seen oregano that was made into buds. And they aren’t like this. They’re usually rock hard from the glue. To all appearences, it looks like real bud. But it’s night so I can’t see it very well. And there’s people around, so I can’t exactly hold it up to the light.

JD: Smells good, huh?

ME: Um, yeah.

JD: My boy always comes through. I’ve gotta get some papers.

Ah-ha! He’s asking for money. Now I’m back on familiar ground again.

Me: Sorry, dude. I don’t have any money.

JD: Oh yeah?

He whips out a wad of bills from his pocket. And we’re not talking about ones and fives here, folks. No, I’m seeing the faces of some slightly more obscure presidents.

JD: How much do you need?

ME: Oh, um… no, that’s not what I meant. I thought you… uh… nevermind.

JD: Cool, cool.

There’s a pause in the conversation. We’re both standing there, watching the people coming and going from the Gay 90’s Nightclub.

JD: Alright man, I gotta go.

He turns to leave, then turns back and asks me if I have any cigarettes. I pull out a cigarette and offer it to him.

JD: Nah man, give me the pack.

Bemused, I give him the pack. He takes the cellophane off and hands the pack back to me. Then he take his baggie out and transfers half of it (a lot!) into the cellophane. He hands me the cellophane.

ME: Sorry man, I don’t have any money…

JD: Oh, you need some?

He reaches into his pocket.

ME: No, I just… um… you’re giving this bud to me?

JD: Yeah man.

ME: Why?

JD: C’mon, are you tellin’ me you don’t remember buying me that drink?

I haven’t been in any bars lately. And I know I’ve never bought anyone a drink since I’m only nineteen. Suddenly, though it took me awhile, I realize that I’m being offered free stuff.

ME: Well yeah, I remember that. I’m just surprised, that’s all.

JD: Hey, it’s cool, man. Give me a call sometime. Peace.

ME: Uh, yeah. Peace.

And he walks away just before the bus comes. I jump on the bus and take it home. I go inside and dig out the bag. It’s as hard as a rock.

2

Good line - been there done that.
Sounds as if this guy was about fifteen or sixteen sheets to the wind himself.
Great OP though - could be a SNL skit.
Got to add Minnasota to my list of places to visit prior to being deceased.

  • NM
3

A very similar thing happened to me except it was real bud.

I was with some friends of mine (the band Concussion) at a studio just jamming. I decide I need a cigarette, so I go outside. I’m standing on a sidewalk on a street I’ve never been on, alone and paranoid, trying to smoke as fast as I can. (I’m paranoid.)

This dude comes walking up to me, kind of checking me out to see if I’m cool, whatever. I never expected him to stop and he was freaking me out anyway, so I didn’t look at him. He gets right up next to me and just says, “What’s up?”

So I turn to look at him and reply. He’s got a good foot on me and probably about 100 pounds or so. HUGE. I’m freaking out (I’m VERY paranoid) but I play it cool. So we get to talking and I swear I’d never seen him before, but he’s all off in his own world and, apparently, I’d been in there somewhere. Out of nowhere, “You smoke?” I’m thinking, well what? Could he be a cop? (Paranoid) No, I decide he is definitely not a cop.

So I pull out the little sack I had and handed him a nug. Impressed (or so I gathered) he hands it back, along with one of his. After a short look, I give the bud back to him. He grab my wrist, turns my hand around (palm up), puts the one bud in there, then reaches into his bag, pinches a little more, and adds that to the stack in my hand. The whole time he was mumbling about what a great time he had last week and that we should get together again sometime.

By now, I’m done with my cigarette so I agree that we should hook up again and I head into the building. It was really good, sticky, smelly, seedless (well, almost) bud too.

4

Great story Freak and you did a good job telling it, but I didn’t understand your ending. Is the bag “hard as a rock” because it fake or what? I don’t smoke pot so I don’t understand the significance of that statement.

5

Sorry, I’ll explain. When someone wants to make fake pot, he pours droplets of glue (or molasses, honey, something sticky) into a bag of oregano. Then he shakes it up so that a bunch of clumps form. And voila, you’ve got something that, under bad lighting, looks and feels very much like grade-A marijuana.

So, when he first shows the bag around, it’s soft and realistic. But after it dries out it becomes as hard as a rock.

6

No doubt man. It’s FreakTown USA here!

7

Yes, Wanderer, I believe it was fake. Actually, I used to make the very same thing.

Ingrediants needed: Bay leaves, dill weed, Oregano, any old school glue.

Take bay leaf in hand. Smother with glue. Add dill weed and oregano until covered. Sit out to dry.

Viola! You have a “real” bud. They look real if you do it right and you can sell them to the little smokers that don’t know any better for way jacked up prices. I usually did several layers of dill weed and oregano for the “Whoa, man, that is a FAT bud” look. It’s an art really.

8

Thank you Silver. I bow to your superior knowledge.

9

Oregano?? You know, THAT might get you arrested in Amsterdam. Selling oregano with glue. Sounds more lethal than weed to me :wink:

Blasphemists. That’s what you get for puritan legislation. Oregano weed :smiley:

10

Oh, now I am offended. That is just not nice! :eek: Although I do agree people should know what they are buying. Caviat emptor (so) and all.

Freak, I have had a few of those wierd experiences too, although never with fake bud.

My favorite are the people who just walk up to you and say “I know you smoke pot” as they are pressing a doober or bud into your hand. Concerts can be a great place to share freely also.

11

Coldfire, I know! I can’t tell you how many dealers I’ve wanted to report to the Better Business Bureau.