Buds and Bud

pixabay.com

In high school I signed up for a program called Drug Free Youth in Texas, or D-Fy-It. You pledged to not take drugs. In return you got a t-shirt and took a drug test...and your life or something. The only thing I remember us getting out of it was a group photo during school.  The photographer was on the roof of the building while we gathered to show the shear volume of members.  Everybody was doing it, so I pretty much needed to join the program as well. Conformity was my drug of choice.

I faced similar peer pressure in church once. I was at church one night, think it was Christmas Eve. It was a youth service or something. There was a chastity pledge and everyone was signing their name on a sheet of paper promising not to engage in sex acts until marriage. I'm pretty sure the success rate of that pledge was well below 20%. Hell, given the opportunity I would have broken that pledge that night with my girlfriend.  Of course, I had never taken part in that activity myself...and I'm sure she took the pledge sincerely. We never even discussed coitus other than when she made a comment  in a phone call about wanting to do it had I been at her house that minute. I was pretty sure she was kidding. Damn I'm such a coward and should have called her bluff. Anyway, it's easy to promise NOT to do something that you aren't going to do anyway.

I guess technically the D-Fy-it program was successful for me in High School. Though that was mainly due to the fact that I simply didn't hang out people that did drugs. Correlation does not imply causation. But you know, correlation is the same as causation if you want it to be. I pretty much went to school, went to work at Burger King, did home work, played in the band, had play rehearsals, and slept. Outside of that, I watched TV (usually Hard Ball with Chris Mathews) and picked up my dad from the American Legion when he called for a ride. Between school, work, plays, and being designated driver, who had time to party? Not this guy. No time to get in trouble.

Then I went to college. It wasn't exactly an Animal House, Van Wilder or Old School experience, but it was certainly a much different time than High School.

Instead of doing school nine hours straight five days a week, it was more like five hours a day. I didn't do extra-curricular activities. I did have practicum, but that was mostly on my own time as needed. I worked at a small independent movie theater 25 to 35 hours a week as well. But now I lived away from home. I was roomed with high school friends Nick, John H as well as Maurice as opposed to Mom, Dad, and little brother. Another guy that occasionally would stay over was Steven. He was a bud from high school and was pretty much a bum.  Nobody to tell me to go to sleep, to be the designated driver for or to nudge me to school before eight in the morning. Only accountable to myself. Don't get me wrong, I took school seriously, motivation was not a problem.

One of the guys I worked with at the theater, Paul, was throwing a party at his house. Paul was one of the managers and actually would become one of my best friends during my 3 1/2 years of college. My roomies and I went and booze was consumed. At some point I made my way out back to the shed. Oh boy. Somehow I ended up with a gas mask on my head. Not some rinky dink mask they wear in Asian countries to protect against SARS or bird flu. This motherfucker was legit. Like over the face with eye holes and Darth Vader type shit going on. The shed was just an 8 by 8 wooden building with black lights, lawn chairs and a beanbag. No idea how many people were in there. All I know is I didn't know any of them and it could have been 20 of us. Probably was 6 or 8 but who knows? Who cares? This gas mask was rigged to some how hold pot. I doubt I knew that when I put it on. 

At some point I made it to the house and, and I'm vague on the details but have been told by Paul that I told him I smoked Marlboro for the first time.  I'm sure I wasn't coherent at all but remember his reaction was something like, “Holeeeyyy Shiiit! J-Dawg smoked weed!” I think I took a nap on that floor and ended up eating cat food in the house, sticking my hand up into the moving ceiling fan and embarrassing John H, Nick and Maurice. I'm certain they'd never smoked weed before and probably thought me insane. They were troopers though. John H and Nick were coworkers and friends going back to middle school and beyond. They helped me home and I slept it off. I would spend the next two years or so pretending smoking pot was a one time thing. That just wasn't their scene, and really shouldn't have been mine.

In college I had a group of friends and a group of buds. My college roommates and my pot buds. There was some bleed trough here though. Paul was definitely a friend of all of us.  John H and Nick worked there at the theater too. One of my pot friends, James, went to school with us. I actually met him through Nick, they were computer science majors.

After Paul saw that I was “cool” he started hounding me to come over and smoke. He even called me "Marlboro Man". The first dozen or so invites were firmly declined. I told him that that wasn't who I was. I eventually started hanging with them, but not smoking. He was relentless. I finally at some point let my guard down and joined him in lighting up. A lot of times it was just the two of us, but sometimes others in the group would join in. There was John P, other John (I don't remember his last name), Hulk and James. Yeah, Johns, James, Paul and Hulk. Apostles, gospels and an Avenger. And me.

We typically smoked in the shed. The house was off limits. Paul rented and had a roommate. Other times we smoked at the bridge. The bridge was this old collapsed bridge outside Commerce, Texas. It was fenced off and pretty private at the end of a dead end road. The highway abandoned many years ago.  When weather was nice we could smoke weed and walk down highway in peace. Other pot heads would go there. Strangers. Nothing like committing illegal acts with people you don't know. Sharing joints with people you don't know. Very communal thing. It was nice.

But the smell was awful. Paul would always say in a deadpan delivery, “Don't say it stinks. This shit is the best smell in the world.” This from a guy that kept visine and a bottle of CK One in his car. I remember one time he came into work to pick up his paycheck. I pulled him aside and asked, “Dude, you been smoking?” He says to me, “Yeah, how you know?”

“Dude, you stink.” He didn't stick around to chat. It never sunk in that I stunk too. Looking back, of course my roommates knew I smoked.

One evening, Paul, other John, and I drove to my hometown. Other John needed a ride and Paul had a nice car whilst other John didn't have one at all. I think he was meeting somebody, I don't really remember. They asked me to come since it was my hometown and I could navigate.

We got to Bonham and reached the town square. Totally dead in downtown Bonham after midnight. At a red light an armadillo scuttled on by. The knuckleheads in the front seat decided that it would be a good idea to try and run the thing over. It got away and we were on our way.  Come to think of it, the fact that it got away and was an armadillo is unbelievable. Maybe it was a possum?

At some point a police car was behind us. We were sober but still paranoid. It was my bright idea to lose the tail, “Make a left up here.” Maybe he just happened to be behind us, if he turns he's obviously following us. We passed my old friend Ryder's house. Turn again. If we both turn, and turn, and turn and turn again it would be obvious to him that we knew what he was up to, surely he'd quit harassing us.

So we turn, and turn, and turn and turn again. But you know what? We annoyed him. He pulled us over.

Shit.

“Paul, tell me there's nothing in here.”

“It's cool, car's empty.”

The officer approaches, “Is there a reason why you were trying to lose me?”

“Well, sir, you know nobody likes a cop behind them. We thought we might have been in trouble for going after that armadillo at the square,” says Paul coolly.

“Yep. I saw that.  I'm gonna call animal control.  Licenses please, all of you. And I oughta pull my K-9 out of my car back there 'cause of that shirt you're wearin'.”

Oh crap. The shirt. Paul was wearing was a tie dye shirt with a large marijuana leaf design on it. The cop left with our ID's. I'm about to crap myself, “You absolutely sure he's not gonna find anything in here? You don't have anything on you do you John?” Everybody said they were clean.

The officer returned a few minutes later and explained that he was following us because Paul's vehicle matched the description of a car that had been reported stolen.

No adventure with a k-9 officer this time, but on another occasion we had what could legitimately be described as a close call. There were several of us packed in Paul's car. We were on our way to his house to smoke in his shed. We were at a stop light in the left turning lane and a pickup truck pulled next to us. James says quietly, but in a way that sounds like he was screaming, “Hey guys, is that a drug dog?”

“Nah” one of us said, “Just some old German Shepherd.” There was a dog in the bed of the pickup truck.

I shit you not, the dog looked at us an started barking. We were fairly uncomfortable at this point. Is this the longest red light ever? Oh man, the dog flippin' jumped out of the back of the truck!

Four guys in a '98 Pontiac Grand Prix screamed in unison, “Let's go!!!” Paul slammed on the gas and we turn left and hightail it out of there. I don't know if the light was still red, I don't know if we hit the dog, all I know is we got to his house in a hurry and smoked to calm our nerves. I think that was the day we discovered that credit and debit cards have holographic watermarks on them that are visible under black light. The things you learn smoking pot in a tool shed listening to Tool and Pink Floyd.

I probably smoked two to three times a week for two years. I only ever paid for my stuff once. That was one drug deal too many for me. Not scared of the dealers, scared of getting arrested in a sting COPS style. I wasn't a moocher. I never asked for weed, I never invited myself over. Every single time I was asked to come over. Every single time I was asked to partake. The guys just wanted another person in their group I guess. It was just something to do and it wasn't a big deal, though I wanted that part of my life to be a secret.

James was really into it though. He started to do a few other drugs, I don't know what. For sure, weed was all I was ever going to do. And it was just a small part of my life. James started missing more and more of his classes so I swung by his place to check on him. He had moved to a house off campus. He told his parents that he was going to quit school because he hated the dorms. They gave him money to rent a house so he would stay. They must have given him a lot of spending money to support his drug habit. He told me he stopped paying rent and he really quit school, though he was registered. His parents had given him so much but he spoke of them with such disdain. I told him to cut it out and come to class. How long would he be able to pull this off? A few months? His parents surely would realize eventually. He would be evicted and homeless. He wouldn't listen. He offered to smoke a bowl with me. “No man, I got class in less than an hour. You know, microeconomics. You are in my class...” He called me a pussy. I rejected him again and told him that school costs a lot to me and I have to go. I would hang out with him and Paul a few more times. He fell into a different crowd. More hardcore drugs. Eventually he stopped school all together and I lost track of him. 

Smoking buddies aren't the same as friends. When the main thing you have in common is weed, it's not really interesting enough to clean somebody up I guess. To me that was his identity. But it wasn't mine. From what I could tell, his parents were absent in his life. More so than mine. I'm sure they were around more than what mine were, but they were probably too accommodating. Spoiled his ass too much.

Hulk wasn't a guy I was all that familiar with. I saw him on just a few occasions. The first time I saw him was at a party at Paul's. Hulk had passed out in the middle of the floor. He was that guy. But what was interesting was that his mom was at the party as well. To me that was sad. A bunch of 17 to 23 year olds drinking booze and there is this woman that's at least in her 40s. But you know what? She obviously was having the most fun. In fact, mom of the year was standing over his unconscious body screaming and singing about how she drunk him under the table. Hootin' and hollarin' about how she's the “man” and how he's a pussy. As kinda cool as that may sound, to me it was incredibly embarrassing and sad. Even drunk, I was glad that my parents were not privy to this part of my life. But that's me being judgmental. Who am I to give unsolicited opinions on others' families?  I don't know them. And my family for damn sure wasn't perfect.

One time I came to a party after work and it had been in full swing for several hours.  John H and I went up to the "bar" manned by Paul. Paul says to me, "J-Dawg you are so behind, you gotta catch up!"  I told him to line 'em up.  I'm not sure how many I had but years later Paul would tell me 12 or 13 shots.  I don't think that's possible, but who knows?  We would have had Nick with us. He'd take care of us. He'd be our designated driver.  Maurice would also have been there to make sure we made it to our rooms.  The next day John would say he was sick all night and not going to class. He'd say, "Never again!" as often was the case.  Maurice was a quiet guy and laid back.  Nick might have a single Smirnoff Ice (back when that was a thing?) and that's it.  He was level headed.

One memory I have of going to class hungover was in computer science class. John H was in that class and we were doing power points or something. I remember telling him it felt like my fingers were 5 pounds each and I just can't type.  Good times.  No regrets.

Paul's roommate was dating my speech teacher. My speech teacher was some grad student, so he's not quite some guy I showed great deference to, but also not a peer. I found out he was dating Paul's roommate when they arrived at a house party that had been going for several hours. I was pretty drunk. “Hey everybody, that's my teacher!” That was bad enough, but I seem to remember saying that every time I saw him. Each time as loud and obnoxious as the last. It made class the rest of the semester awkward for me. I'm sure it wasn't exactly comfortable for him either.

The last day I smoked pot we were on our way to a metal concert. It was Ozzfest 2003. This would have been August, I think. That fall semester I was moving back home with my parents and would now commute the thirty minutes to school. I also was quitting my longtime job at the movie theater. I had worked there three years throughout college. The pay was horrible but was possibly my favorite job ever. I had worked with John H and Nick for like two years. John was somebody I had worked with in high school at Burger King and Nick was a friend mine going back to like the 1^st grade. In fact I remember co-authoring a kung fu comic book with Nick in the 1st grade. We had horrible penmanship and couldn't draw a stick figure. I'm sure the comic was amazing.  Paul,my chief smoking pal was actually genuinely a friend. We previously had attended 2 concerts together with 2 female coworkers Sara and Emily (Foo Fighters and Flaw). Doc, the owner was nice, his son Eric was a pretty cool dude. There was also Kate,  and a handful of others that came and went. Pretty neat having a part time job three years with a group of people nearly the whole time. We had free movies, popcorn, soda, and customers were generally pretty nice because they were there to have a good time.

So with me no longer living or working in Commerce, I would have a lot less free time there. So pot smoking would come to an end. It wasn't necessarily the act of smoking that was a draw, or even the high. It was the little sense that I belonged in a group. They accepted me and I accepted them. I don't really fit in well with other people. People don't generally see me as a real cool guy to spend extra time with. A good guy, but not a cool guy.  I just typically don't relate to other people very well. Paul and his friends welcomed me. And I welcomed their company while I was there. They were authentic. I respect that. 

But that time was coming to an end.

So Paul and I drove to John P's house to pick him up. I met his dad for the first time. He had a real older brother vibe going on. Middle aged man that was more friend than dad. Not quite like Hulk's mom, but maybe that's because he wasn't drunk in a crowd with loud music blaring. He says to us, “Alright, I know you're holding, let's light up.” For some reason I remember us in a large room with no furniture standing in a circle passing the J around. I'm sure there was furniture but I don't visualize it at all. He shot the shit with us and we were off. To some this may seem cool, but like Hulk's mom I felt it was a bad deal. To have a parent to smoke with? Even sadder than Hulk's mom. This was the morning man, he wasn't acting a fool because of a few beers. He was lighting up with his son and buds after a coffee. This must have been a normal thing for them. I felt that at some point parents need to grow up and be a parent.  Again though, who the hell am I to judge? It's not my parenting style, but it's not my damn business.

Paul and John had gotten tickets together, they were picking up at will-call. I had gotten tickets for myself and my sister and her husband Ryan. I got my tickets in the mail. We would be sitting in different sections than Paul and John during the main-stage acts. John and I were standing around while Paul went to the will-call window to pick his tickets up. He came back and was all smiles. He got his tickets, but he saw that somebody had left their tickets at the counter by the window. A pair of tickets and a receipt. The receipts look a lot like the real tickets, especially if you don't really look at them. These were all like $80 tickets. Serious scratchola for guys our age.

Paul found a scalper to sell these tickets to at a discount. He scalped to a scalper!  Once again, John and I were standing around and Paul was conducting business. As he comes toward us, he's running and looks half scared, “Hurry up, let's go!” The scalper was a small distance behind giving chase and looking pissed. Paul sold him three tickets. When the scalper realized that one of those tickets was a receipt, he was none too pleased. Paul was both brilliant and a moron.

Ozzfest was at an outdoor venue. There were second stage shows in the morning to early afternoon. These were general admission. For the main stage we would have assigned seating. The three of us hung around and watched some lesser known acts perform. At some point we were sitting on the concrete against the fence on the outer edges of the venue. Visible to the crowd, but not really part of it. We smoked a joint and enjoyed each other's company listening to music in the Texas heat.

I split from them to sit with my sister and brother-in-law Ryan. I'd meet Paul and John at Paul's car after the show. 

 April, Ryan, and I enjoyed the more popular acts together under the amphitheater roof. The temps would drop as the sun did likewise. At some point some anonymous person next to us would offer a joint to pass along. The three of us declined, to keep up appearances. Everybody around us was completely honest and open, but I chose to stay in the closet and deny the small part of me that I had become. Was it still the shame? Or my secret life slipping away?

After the show I met Paul and John at the car and we were on our way. We stopped at a Taco Bell drive thru on the way home. At the drive thru window the guy there asked if we had been lighting up. We asked him how he knew? “Because you are mumbling and you got pissy when I asked you to repeat. You don't even realize it dude.” The worker asked if he could smoke with us. His shift was ending in like five minutes and he had some shit in his car. We agreed and parked the car out front to wait. After a minute or two we decided this was not a good idea. Was this guy a narc? Was this entrapment? Could we trust this guy?

We decided to ditch the kid and left. I guess the Taco Bell of a Dallas suburb somehow was outside our circle of trust that an abandoned highway in rural Texas somehow belonged. Taco Bell guy didn't meet the standards of the Broke Down Bridge.

We would smoke one more joint on the way home and call it a night. I don't think I ever saw John P, Hulk or other John after that. I'd see Paul a handful of times while visiting the theater for free movies thanks to John H and Nick. Paul would soon quit the theater and I'd never see him in person again. My last semester was spent commuting and studying. I graduated a semester early and did what I could to enter the full-time workforce. I didn't have time to smoke pot. I had no reason to hang out with my pot buddies. We had nothing in common and it was an easy habit for me to quit. Sure I missed the guys, well I missed Paul, but I was out of school and it was time to grow up.

###

Me sporting my D-Fy-iT shirt.  1999

If I had to pick a song to be the soundtrack to this post it would be...