The Reluctant Adventurer: Legally High in Vancouver
Saturday, April 25, 2015
THE HOSPITAL.
Because of WEED.
I was a junior in high school, and I’d smoked half a joint with my friend Laura Cohen in the attic room my brother had left when he went to college.
After about 20 minutes, I started feeling tingly and mildly disassociated. I began walking from room to room in my house to make it go away, and suddenly became terrified that I would always feel that way, like David in David After the Dentist (“Is this forEVER?”).
We ended up calling my friend Mary and her mother took me to the hospital, where a very annoyed doctor left me in a darkened exam room under a blanket to let me calm down.
“Why do people DO this?,” I asked. Even in my altered state, it was important to me to make it clear to the doctor that this was a new experience for me.
“I have no idea.”
He hated me so much.
Later, Mary’s mother would contact my mother because she was afraid I had a drug problem. Because no one goes to the hospital from smoking weed, right?
Looking back, I realize it was probably my first anxiety attack.
I had a series of them a decade later after my father died, which manifested as OCD episodes. I had what they call “intrusive thoughts,” wherein your mind convinces you that you’ve done something awful like hurt someone, but you can’t for the life of you come up with what you did.
It was terrifying and life-altering and by far the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
So I should risk it happening again, right?
People are so strange. The things we forget. The things we tell ourselves.
Maybe it’s all because of love: our brains are trained to forget pain because if we remembered exactly how much it hurt we’d never fall in love again.
I blame everything on love.
Anyway, I tried pot again two days ago.
Weed’s legal in Washington, after all, and we had an idea on the radio show I work for: as a tribute to Hunter S. Thompson, our entire team should try to write stoned.
Because no one, ever, in the history of comedy, has written jokes stoned.
To our credit, we know it happens a lot, but it probably doesn’t happen a lot in public radio. Garrison Keillor and Peter Sagal probably aren’t sparking up a blunt to whip up “Lake Wobegone” or “That’s Not My Job.”
So that’s why we felt like trailblazers.
Get it? TrailBLAZERS?
I’m super down with the weed lingo.
So another show writer and I traveled all the way to Vancouver, Washington, where we purchased a few strains from an adorable little storefront called Main Street Marijuana.
The first thing we noticed upon walking in and showing our IDs was that the place was PACKED, with little groups of people being helped by about five weed experts wearing lanyards with their names on them. It was a like a Mac Genius Bar, but for sweet, sweet mary jane. Reefer. Chronic. Wacky tobacky. Fatty boom blatty. Cat’s Gym Shoes.
I made that last one up.
It’s set up a lot like a jewelry store, with glass counters filled with edibles in the front (chocolate, truffles, brownies and even sodas), different strains all along one wall with samples so you can see the buds, and paraphernalia in the center. (There were some adorable Kate Spade-looking polka dot pipes, which made me think that soon we’ll probably have some celebrity lines. Matthew McConaughey bongs?)
We made our way to the first available sales person, a lovely woman with bright pink hair who knew a lot about weed.
One thing I love about pot becoming legal is that knowing a lot about weed is now something people can put on a resumé.
Also of note: everyone looked very happy in there. The employees, yes, but mostly the customers. They looked like wide-eyed kids at a toy store at Christmastime.
We told our Weed Genius (or, Wenius™*) what we were doing and she recommended a couple of Sativas—Blue Dream and Dirty Girl. Sativas supposedly lead to a more active, creative high.
I told her I was a pot wuss and had had anxiety attacks in the past, and she recommended an Indica, which is more calming. (“This one totally gets rid of my road rage.”)
We also picked up a hybrid called Joocy Froot. You know—FOR SCIENCE.
As you talk to your Wenius™, she writes your orders on a sheet, which then goes back to another Wenius™ who gathers it up for you and asks if you have any questions.
It reminded me of going to the pharmacist.
“Have you ever taken Alaskan Thunderf*ck before?”
He handed us our bag with a smile and we were off.
It was the strangest experience to walk out of a store with a brown paper bag filled with weed in beautifully-designed little baggies and jars.
To just walk into a store, say, “Good day, fine sir! I would like your finest strain of the marijuana, please!,” and walk out with what you asked for. Such a far cry from someone whispering “smoke?” to me in Washington Square Park in college.
My only beef with Main Street Marijuana? Their logo is in Zapf Chancery. Who DOES that?
We got into our car with our booty, never giving a thought to whether we’d run into the popo, and that evening, my workmates and I got some hummus and pizza and got high. Together. And tried to write.
Especially for me.
I just shouldn’t smoke pot. Period. I think no matter what type I get, there’s a rush at some point, which mirrors the rush of adrenaline in an anxiety attack, and suddenly I’m having one of those anxiety attacks brought on by the fear of an anxiety attack.
F*ck my brain.
Over the course of the evening, I dealt with about five different waves of anxiety. I would work below the layers of it, connecting to the world in familiar ways that would take me out of my own head and into words, feelings, or tastes. I was relieved but wary every time a wave would subside.
The writers were funny, of course, but it wasn’t an all-night laugh-riot. It was more of a series of funny musings that may or may not have happened if they were sober. A couple samples:
One of the writers asked me to order a pizza, but I told him to order it himself because talking to strangers on the phone makes me feel weird (this is sort of true in general, but was mostly due to my altered state).
Business idea: The Ordering Place!—a service you call that will call and order stuff for you!
That’s pot brain.
Additionally, one of the writers went on a five-minute rant about how he won’t order sausage on half the pizza because inevitably some of the sausage will encroach on his side of the pizza, making two of his pieces meat pieces.
Product idea: The Great Wall of Pizza™**—little standing non-stick metal dividers that keep imperialist toppings from encroaching on the other half.
See? All of our ideas had to do with pizza.
All in all, even with the bad waves, I was glad we did it.
Now I know for sure that I’m never smoking pot again, even though it doesn’t have the calories of alcohol, which was always its biggest selling point for me.
I’ve also learned a lesson about repeating past mistakes: YOU SHOULDN’T DO IT.
If you think you’re different now, or the world is different now, or it won’t happen again even though it happened pretty dependably before…you’re not, it’s not, and IT WILL.
This message brought to you by legal weed.
2314 Main Street, Vancouver
RECOMMENDED FOR: Weed lovers, people who love the rush of buying items that were previously illegal, Matthe McConaughey.
NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Those who have anxiety attacks brought on by weed every 20 years or so, mellow-harshers, Nancy Reagan.
*Wenius isn’t really trademarked. I just made it up.
**The Great Wall of pizza isn’t trademarked either, but I’m totally calling the patent office today, so BACK OFF.
Related Slideshow: Ten Things to Know About Marijuana Legalization in Oregon
Here are ten things you need to know now that pot is legal in Oregon.
Related Articles
- The Reluctant Adventurer: 18 Dates in One Night
- The Reluctant Adventurer: 60 Minutes to Escape
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Adventures in Intimacy
- The Reluctant Adventurer: An Evening at Ron Jeremy’s Portland Sex Club
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Bikram Yoga
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Casa Diablo, the vegan strip club
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Cat Lady Training at Purringtons Cat Lounge
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Dating the Polyamorous
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Fellatio Class
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Getting A Brazilian in Portland
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Italian Fashion and Why I Enjoy Being a Girl, Sort of.
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Learning New Lessons as Principal for Almost a Day
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Looking for Buried Treasure at the Goodwill ‘Bins’
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Nightclub Zumba
- The Reluctant Adventurer: One Hour With a Professional Cuddler
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Q & A With Professional Cuddler, Samantha Hess
- The Reluctant Adventurer: SHARE
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Shutting Your Brain Up With T’ai Chi
- The Reluctant Adventurer: The Flotation Tank at Float On
- The Reluctant Adventurer: The Grotto
- The Reluctant Adventurer: The Year of Dating Totally Un-Dangerously
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Top 10 Lessons Learned While Reluctantly Adventuring in 2014
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Voicebox Karaoke
- The Reluctant Adventurer: Water Aerobics
Follow us on Pinterest Google + Facebook Twitter See It Read It