My First Time Buying Weed – A Cautionary Tale

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My First Time Buying Weed – A Cautionary Tale

An Unfortunately True Story

I was a young and stupid 17-year-old teenage boy. I had recently been introduced to the puff puff at a party when some random guy handed me my first joint, and it is at this very party where I met a girl. This same girl came up to me one fateful high school day. “Hey! D’you wanna come over to watch some movies and stuff tomorrow?” she said casually.

“Aaa-aah-sure” I stammered with inappropriate hormonal presumptions suddenly streaming through my mind.

“Cool! Bring some bud and we can smoke and stuff. It will make the movie more fun.” she happily murmured, brushing her hair away from her eyes.

“Y-eah sure” I mumbled stupidly. Suddenly my mind wondered what she meant by ‘and stuff’.

“Alright, I’ll text you my address. See you t’morrow!” She said excitedly.

“Yeah, check you tomorrow” I rattled off with a stupid smile spreading across my face. Then my smile quickly disappeared as I came to a realization. I had absolutely no one who I could get weed from, and no one who I could call about getting some. Panic began to ensue but so did the plotting of a plan.

A stupid teenage plan

I got home from school and a text popped off on my phone. It was an address and time ending with a little heart emoji. My smile turned to panic. This girl was expecting me to show up at her house with weed, which I agreed to! What would she think of me if I showed up with nothing. My heart was pounding and my head racing. To my teenage mind getting some weed became the most important mission of my life. I needed help, I texted a friend. Then I waited.

The information came in. A friend of a friend said that a friend once bought weed at the informal market by the beach (reliable stuff). I grabbed my skateboard and headed towards the beach. The market was a classic tourist trap, African style knick-knacks, knock-off t-shirts, and ‘fallen out the back of a truck’ discount cosmetics. Somewhere in this mishmash of hawkers was my man.

I was not exactly the type of kid people were looking to hock off their turrie to. I looked more like a child than a possible customer, nonetheless, the stakes were too great. I walked from store to store looking inside. A man with clothing. A man with jewellery. A man with sun-lotion. A man with dreadlocks. A man- I paused.

I looked into the stall of this particular dreadlocked man. Unlike the other stores that were so full of items to buy you could barely move, this man sat in an empty stall. All that was in his barren stall was a chair and a rather large Jamaican flag. Surely. Surely this was my man. I approached him cautiously, my heart pounding. “I-I heard you sell”, I said quietly. The man’s eyes shot towards me. He studied me from head to toe.

“Says who?”, he spat. As more of a statement than a question.

“Ummm”, I mumbled frozen.

He continued to study me when his demeanour softened, and he giggled. “How much d’ya want?”

“A hundred?”, I held up the note as a breath of relief washed over me.

He grabbed the note, “Come back in 10 minutes”. I scurried away, fantasizing about the endless possibilities that my movie date the following day presented.

I returned to the stall to witness a very different scene. The previously barren stall was now absolutely filled with various clothing items. My dreadlocked friend excitedly welcomed me back in. “What do you think of these”, he said gesturing towards a pair of pants”

“Um”, I stared at him confused.

“Or these?”, he pointed towards another pair of pants.

“I think you might ha-“, he grabbed my hand shoving it into the pocket of the pants. I felt a small plastic package in the pocket.

“I knew you’d like this pair”, he said with a smirk.

Success! I skated home with a victorious feeling. I had done it. This time tomorrow I was gonna be smoking up right next to a girl. When I got home I quickly prepared to hide the package when a dumb teenage plan popped into my head. I should at least try it right.

I found an old pipe and ripped parts of the bud up with my fingers, greedily stuffing them into the pipe. Lighting up the bud I pulled. It tasted like victory, as well as being kinda earthy.

A car pulled into the driveway. My parents were home. I leapt into action, running into my room I threw the baggie and pipe deep into my shelf. In a bid to disguise the smell I made a fatal mistake. I sprayed the pipe with deodorant. I peeked into the mirror, my eyes were a disaster. Blood red and misty. There was no time to fix it. I leapt onto my bed and attempted to act naturally.

My mom walked into my room, “Hey Hone-“. She stopped and drew a deep breath in. Her eyes darted towards me, and her face hardened staring deep into my blood-red eyes. She turned right towards my stash and her hand slowly reached in. Shit.

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