Whipit Good

Sally works with a guy who's been going off the deep end lately. Apparently he's ingesting everything he can get his hands on. When she told me I said "What, is he doing Whipits or something?" "Not that I know of" she said, "but if I mentioned it he'd probably run out and get some." I was kidding, but then I couldn't help remembering the Whipit days. Most people know what Whipits are.
 There was a period of a year or two when my old bud and bandmate O' and I went through no telling how many boxes of Whipits. For a legal high, and a good one at that, you couldn't beat Whipits. Nevermind that they were only industrial-grade, or that you could accidentally freeze your larnyx off or pass out and hit your head...it was FUN. Getting them was fun too. There was a place that was sort of like Sam's Club, where you buy cases of shit. It was largely automated. You'd go in and enter your order and pay, and then go stand in line by a conveyor. A few minutes later a door would open and your order would travel right up to you. O' and I would be standing there grinning as half a dozen cases rolled up to us. We didn't fuck around.
 I don't need to go into the effects of N2O, and I am NOT advocating the use of ANY substance. Seriously, that shit is BAD for you. Having said that, I couldn't even begin to guess how many we did during that period. I'm laughing right now but I'm not going to tell any Whipit stories at this time. I will tell how we got rid of the empties though. That was funny.
 There was and still is a club here called the Nick. We used to play there all the time, and considered it a home away from home. For some reason it seemed like the perfect place to dump all our spent Whipit cartridges. Sure we could've thrown them in a dumpster, but we were big "bang for the buck" guys, and if we could get another fun use out of something we were going to toss anyway, then why not. I'm sure the good folks at the Nick would've just as soon had us throw them in a dumpster, but that wasn't the deal. It was one of those funny things where they totally knew it was O' and me, but technically they couldn't ever prove it. Not that we'd have gotten into any trouble, but they were just itching to catch us in the act. To our credit, if there was any to be had, there was a hill to the side of the parking lot and we always aimed for that. They'd eventually roll down into a gravel/weeded area. No problem.
 Like I said we didn't fuck around, so after a week or so we'd have hundreds of spent cartridges. Now that I think about it, I wish I'd thought ahead enough to do something more constructive with them, like maybe drilling them and making a chain. It would've been long enough to circle the block several times easily. But no, we had to raise hell and throw them out in a public place. Whichever of us was in the passenger seat, we'd hold a big box of empty Whipits; maybe 750 or so, and toss them into the parking lot. The only criteria was to make sure no employees saw us directly. 750 or so empty Whipit cartridges hitting pavement made, as Bill Bruford would say, an almighty clatter. The sound was actually quite musical (to us anyway), and loud as fuck. It was so much fun. They'd come running out like bees from a beehive trying to catch a glimpse of our cars, but we'd be two blocks away by then. Good times.
 Speaking of Bill Bruford and Whipits, a few years later both of those things helped get me through a bad breakup. For about three weeks or so I'd do Whipits and listen to Bruford's amazing Earthworks records before I went to sleep, and I'd just drift off into the most pleasant cloud, and before long it was back to business as usual. So that's partly the story on the Whipit days. Why did I tell it? Hell if I know.