I started smoking pot when I was 14 and a sophomore in high school. It seemed a natural thing to do since I was playing in a hot little rock and roll band and I did not like the smell or taste of tobacco smoke. I thought it was great that I could get a whole ounce of cheap Mexican weed anywhere, anytime for ten dollars.
I alrteady had the alcohol angle covered, courtesy of my Dad’s reputation and long-standing friendship with the local liquor store owners. Every Friday, after school, I would head over to their store located in a mini-mall and procure my “supplies” for the entire weekend: a case of beer, a quart of Seagram’s V.O.
I was the last person arrested in the state of California before the law changed possession of a controlled substance from a felony to a misdemeanor. I was literally booked at 11:59pm and the law changed at midnight.
So, it actually took my military stepfather to step in and get me the help needed to get the charge dropped altogether. I mean all I had was a little plastic film clip half-full of some great Marin County bud.
I had flown in from Tucson where I was attending the University of Arizona majoring in corporate accounting. I was in town for an anniversary party and every member of our large family was there. I was getting drunk, of course, and had ducked out to light up a bowl and chill out.
By my own admission, I was dressed like an early-seventies pimp. I was wearing leather pants, a purple satin shirt covered with roses with white collar and cuffs. My glossy white patent leather belt matched my shoes. Oh yeah, to tie it all together, a long ruby red scarf.
A real peacock.
So where do they throw my ass for what have been (so far) the worst 8 hours of my life?
Try L.A. County Jail.
I was grouped with a bunch of the smelliest, dirtiest, and foul miscreants known to man and I just KNEW that every single one of them would try and get friendly with me if they could get their greasy mitts on me so guess how much shuteye I got before being mercifully rerscued by a family lawyer in the morning?
I couldn’t get to LAX airport fast enough to return to the desert.
I would love to say that was the only time I ever spent incarcerated, but I don’t tell lies (anymore).
One of the ironies of making it to seventy, is that now I smoke pot for medical reasons.
Legitimate medical resons.
Two words for you.
Phantom pain.
It’s real (painful).
I think overall, pot (and smoking cigaretees) are not being perpetuated like before. Of course, I probably just don’t hang around youngsters (30 and below) with any regularity, so I could be just so out of touch that I don’t see it.
I know alot of people do the vaping thing, but one hit was all it took for me to realize that I’ll take my 35-plus THC in weed form.
Karen, my soulmate, told me years before she met me, she was a smoker. If that were the case when I first met her, we would have had a very short relationship and not the 37 years and counting we are at now.
I think today’s young people have buried enough relatives due to smoking and overall, they are smarter and more aware than we were.
That’s how it’s supposed to work.
Stay well.
