For the last two days, I’ve reeked of pot. It’s not because I’ve suddenly taken up recreational marijuana smoking or am self-medicating for a glaucoma or two – truth be told, I’m far too lazy to keep up with the 420 lifestyle – but nonetheless, I am carrying a distinct cloud of Vancouver Green around my person. I’m like PigPen, if he were ten years older and firmly entrenched in his stoner years. Weed: I stink of it.
And it’s NOT MY FAULT! If I had been smoking pot, I’d be the first to own up to it because I am a fan of the over share – but I haven’t been! Your (completely imagined) disappointed head shaking and finger wagging is highly misplaced! I did nothing to earn your scorn!
Seriously, though: I wasn’t smoking pot.
On my way to work yesterday, I spied a small plastic baggie on the ground. I ignored it, but then my eagle eye spotted something IN the baggie: a wad of green the size of a dime. Interesting! I scooped it up and continued to the bus stop. While I was waiting the 20 minutes for my “Express” bus to roll around, I cautiously sniffed at the sticky organic contents of the bag I found, and my initial suspicion was verified: weed. Fresh weed, even. I immediately told my friends, because finding weed on the ground is hilarious to me and then I stuffed it in my pocket, because I had numbers to learn and stupid changes to struggle through.
When I picked up my jacket to head home at the end of the day, I was greeted with an overwhelming stench of pot: it seems the little blue baggie in my pocket was not at all smell-proof, and my coat had been marinating in weed all day. I tripled-bagged it before heading home, but it was too late. I told my coworkers, because a) hilarious, and b) there are certain people who would tattle on me to HR if they just assumed I spent my evenings high as fuck. I took my found weed home, and tossed it in the freezer because that seems like a good place to keep mystery drugs. My jacket still smells a little, but no more than any other resident of Vancouver.
That was yesterday. I didn’t wear the same coat today, but I still reek of someone else’s pot:
I rode Lola to work for the first time this season, parking in the sketchy lot across the street. I came into the office just before noon after working from home for most of the morning, and it was then I learned that many of downtown Vancouver’s chefs get crazy high before they start the lunch rush .. and their smoke pit of choice is behind the motorcycle parking in the sketchy lot across the street. It REEKS of pot in there. It smells like a DRUG DEN. I am SHOCKED! Except not really, it’s kind of funny and now I smell like pot all over again for reasons utterly beyond my control. Okay, maybe I didn’t HAVE to pick up the weed I found on the ground, but how was I supposed to know it was going to be crazy stinky all day long? I am not an expert on these things.
So, if any potential employers happen upon this page while Googling my name to make sure I’m not a serial killer, please note I am not addicted to weedahol and if I ever smell like drugs, there is very likely a hilarious story behind it that I will be glad to share with you.
Thank you for your time.