I try really hard not to be the “Back in my day…” type of gal, but every time 4/20 rolls around, I can’t help thinking about how easy the kids have it now. When they want to restock their weed supply, all they have to do is walk down the street, enter a fancy storefront, and their Genius Bar budtenders will make all their dreams come true. They tell them the exact THC milligram amount of each product, discuss different cannabis strains and their effects, and show them a multitude of methods of delivery into the body. Your every weed wish is their command.
Us? We used to have to go to some random guy’s house, usually some dude your friend’s girlfriend met once at a show, probably named something like Skeeter. You’d show up and he’d be playing video games – he really liked “Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater” – and he’d ask you to join. You’d be like, “Nah, man. I don’t really play.” But it would become clear that if you wanted bud, you’d have to listen to “Superman” by Goldfinger on repeat and play him in a few games of SKATE. For some, it was easy. For me, it took hours. Skating just didn’t come natural to me.
Sure, sometimes he’d try to tell you about the qualities of the weed he had. But none of it made sense, and there was a lot of “This shit right here, this shit is _____ (version of “dank” of your choice). But it didn’t matter. Every time, you’d point to one bag at random, give him $50 for an eighth of an ounce, and hope for the best. The kids just don’t know the feeling of not knowing if the joint you’re rolling (yes, you had to roll it yourself) is going to give you that light high you need to make it through family dinner or send you to Mars on the back of a unicorn made out of fire.
Do I miss the old days? Yeah, I think about him every time I see someone skateboard down my block or watch someone jump into a volcano in my dreams. I wonder where he is now, and if he ever got the secret tape in the Warehouse. I’m told despite the hours he put in, he must not have been very good. Bless him.