Just for the record, I never once so much as offered a puff of grass of even a sip of beer to anyone unwilling to partake. Selling dope is potentially immoral in terms of who might end up with it. Sure you could sell to a legal adult (we pronounce it "ADult" here in the South), but you never know whom they might sell it to. The legal ramifications speak for themselves. No can do on all fronts.
Back around a million years ago I had a friend who ran sound for my band for a time and he dealt weed. He was a straight-shooter, which put some people off but that I appreciated. That was the only reason I ever decided to break my vow. More importantly it was a situation where it would all be going to trusted friends. Back in those days there'd be seasonal "droughts" in the flow of pot, but whomever the "man" in this case was, apparently they had so much that they had it all year, and it was good too.
J-Mac wanted to set me up and introduce me to Mr. Big so I could get it rolling independently of his thing. I wouldn't be selling dime bags to strangers at all hours. I was getting a kilo right off the bat. It would be split about ten ways and go to J's and my friends at 2-4 oz. a pop. For my trouble I'd get 6 oz of smoke and make $185 or something like that, which was a bit of cash back then. Getting paid for getting free weed is pretty compelling, so I agreed to try it just once. Idiot move.
I guess we were at J's house but we were getting ready to go over to a big apartment complex so I could score. I don't remember the circumstances but somewhere along the way we ran into my friend Champ, who'd been out on the town big time. He was loaded. One thing about Champ is that he and I were never "mean drunks." True to form he was in a great mood. In fact it was one of those nights for him where anything goes. He was laughing his ass off at everything, and it was contageous. I was dead-sober and trying to be serious. I was about to hang my ass out in the breeze and pick up two elbows-plus of pot. It was no time for levity.
Long story but for years we've called each other Champ. When he found out we were going to score some weed he thought that was terriffic. Against my better judgement I let him ride in the back seat. To think that someone would want to go along on something that dangerous (and stupid) willingly is beyond me, but as I said he was loaded. He didn't give a shit. Everything was a big joke. Not that there's anything wrong with that but there's a time and place.
We pulled up to the apartments with J driving and Champ giggling in the back seat. I tried to shush him to no avail. I went to the door and knocked. A very large Mexican gentleman opened the door, looked both ways and let me in. I felt like I was suddenly in a movie, or a different part of the world maybe. The room was deathly silent...no TV or radio, and no one spoke a word the entire time. A guy motioned for me to sit down at a table and I found myself being directly stared at by 6-7 other intense-looking gentleman. They never took their eyes off of me. I'm not sure if they ever blinked. It was good for starters and I felt right at home. Not.
"You could cut the tension with a knife" is usually just a saying but that night it was true. It was creepy and scary as fuck and I was already having second thoughts about my poor decision. I looked around and saw more guns, money and weed that I've ever seen before or since. A few men were holding guns. I guess they slept with them. If they slept, that is. I just wanted to grab the shit and get the fuck out of there, and I doubt they'd have invited me over for poker night or anything. It was rough. I gave money guy the money and he handed me a brand-new cooler that I presumed was packed with 2.2 lbs of weed. I nodded and split. I'd never been so glad to leave a place. I could finally breathe again. Or so I thought.
It's funny but I remember thinking how nice of a cooler it was, and I supposed it just came with the deal. That thought didn't last long. As I got down the sidewalk toward the car I noticed that a cop or a sheriff had pulled up two spaces over, with nary a car in between. I almost froze in terror, but I managed to stay calm as I walked to the car. I didn't know if he was there to bust those guys, or people walking out of there with a kilo of weed too, or what, but I figured that he didn't have X-ray vision, and if I was busted I was busted and there was no use to panic. Somehow I remained totally calm and even managed a weak smile when he looked up from his paperwork and straight at me. As if miraculous, he nodded and went back to his clipboard. Boy, howdy...I'd dodged a bullet so to speak. And then the unthinkable happened.
Champ, who was having the time of his life sitting in a car going nowhere and waiting for his sober friend, who was trying to be as serious as he'd ever been in his life because he was doing something that was highly illegal, was so wasted that he hadn't noticed the cop pull up. He was sitting there with what we used to call a "shit-eating" grin on his face as I walked up to the car with a cooler full of weed right next to a cop. Champ thought it was just all jolly-good and he was enjoying every minute of it. Actually now that I think about it, Champ still had his wits about him enough to know that what I was doing was a bonehead move and totally out of character, and he was basically giving me shit about it, and with good reason. I should have paid more attention probably.
Just as I was reaching for the door, he said, in a very loud and surprisingly un-slurred voice "Well, Champ...didja get the STUFF?" I was mortified and almost froze again, but what's another major heart attack when you just had one two seconds ago? I opened the door like it was a life jacket thrown to a drowning man. The cop looked up at me again and I was waiting to hear his door handle opening as he was getting out to slap the cuffs on me. Going from the terror of seeing a cop while I was holding a shitload of weed to thinking I was in the clear back to sheer terror again thinking my best friend was going to accidentally get me thrown in the pokey wasn't much fun.
It was almost Christmas, so maybe it was an early miracle, but somehow I made it into the car and we carefully drove off. "Champ, man...did you not see that COP?" I said to Champ. He looked back around as we were driving off. "Oh, man..." he said. For a second and for the first time that evening he got quiet, but as it hit us what just happened we all three busted out laughing. We were none the worse for wear but that was a little close for comfort. Fortunately that was one of those lessons I only had to learn once for it to stick. J-Mac understood. I wasn't the guy. I knew before we got six blocks away from the dope house that that was my one and only foray into dealing. I had plenty of time to reflect on things. While I was smoking six ounces of free pot. I didn't say it was all bad. Just say No.
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