According to what I’m reading and watching from the media, Oxycontin is the biggest thing in addictive drugs since the invention of alcohol. Prescriptions have multiplied exponentially. It’s being stolen and resold under the table. Celebrities get into trouble with it. Oxycontin is the cocaine of our day.
So you can imagine how overjoyed I was when, in the aftermath of last week’s root canal, my dentist prescribed me some Oxycontin. I was thrilled. Finally, after a lifetime of avoiding illegal drugs, I had an opportunity to not only get higher than hell, and not only do so legally, but even to do so on the tab of my employer’s insurance plan.
As I drove to my local purveyor of pharmaceuticals, I dreamt of the opportunities my oxycontin would provide me. I fantasized about not only getting really stoned and possibly stopping the absolutely mind-shattering pain in my jaw, but the business and lifestyle opportunities that awaited me. I could use some of my oxycontin to lveage my way into becoming an oxycontin dealer. Soon, uncountable riches beyond the dreams of Croesus would be mine as I sold this wonder drug at ridiculous margins to desperate addicts. I would move to Miami and have a garishly luxurious mansion overlooking the Gulf, where I and my minions would run our international oxycontin empire. Guarded by my hired thugs and waited upon by bikini-clad strumpets, I would be an internationally powerful drug lord with contacts in government and business, living the high life such as few could ever imagine. Of course, my addiction would inevitably lay me low, as the law caught up to me and brought me down, forcing me to turn state’s evidence, surrender my ill-gotten gains, and return to a life of middle class obscurity, or possibly become the starting quarterback for the New York Jets. But it would be worth the ride. Perhaps someone would buy the book rights.
So you can imagine my excitement when the alchemist summoned me to her altar to explain the prescription to me. My excitement only grew when, upon finding I had never taken this drug before, she regaled me with warnings and tales of woe about the potential horrors the drug threatened me with. It was not only addictive, but reacted poorly with alcohol, acetaminophen, antihistamines, other narcotics, and possibly Reese’s Peices; to be honest I was so thrilled I missed a lot of it.
Speeding home, my anticipation only became even more unbearable as I read the data sheet. It was HABIT FORMING, the form said. In capital letters! It warned of the hideous dangers that awaited me if I dared to drive a car or operate heavy machinery while coked to the gills on oxycontin, a drug that, to read the sheet, was issues forth from the very bowels of Hell.
I took my first dose. I considered washing it down wth a pint of beer just to get the full effect but alcohol does not mix with the antibiotics I’m on.
And I waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Nothing happened. Nothing. I was aghast. I wasn’t stoned. I wasn’t high. I wasn’t buzzed or loopy or woozy. Fuck, it didn’t even make the pain go away any better than a couple of Advils would have, which is to say not much.
Where the hell was the pleasure that this drug is supposed to confer? Where were my goons and bikini-clad strumpets? Nowhere. It was bullshit. Later that evening I took another. Nothing. It didn’t even help with the pain. I double checked a description of the pills against a description on the Internet and they were definitely the genuine article.
I don’t understand how people could be addicted to these things. They’re no more addictive than pretzels. What a ripoff.
