Selling Weed

When I was 14 I had the world by the balls.

I was selling at the VERY least 2 or 3 grams of weed a MONTH.

You’re dealing with a hardened criminal here, folks. A regular Pablo Escobar.

I used to count my money over and over again – like a gangster counting fat stacks of $100s – but really because the singles would be crumpled up to give the perception of being $10 when it was really only 8 or 9 when I made a sale.

One time I was negotiating a deal in the men’s room at my high school when I learned a valuable lesson. If you don’t know by now people who buy drugs typically aren’t the most trustworthy clients. I learned that the hard way when my client asked to “see the product” and then ran out of the men’s room without exchanging money with me.

I was robbed and I couldn’t tell anyone!

All I learned from TV and movies had betrayed me. All the sales books I read had given me the wrong advice! All around me were people saying that you have to make the customer trust you but what if you can’t trust the customer?

This was back in the day when it would take about 3 hours and a carrier pigeon to get you that answer!

DAMN YOU 56k MODEMS!!!!!!!!

Later on that day I caught up to him and he actually gave the weed back. It was strange because I don’t really get whey he would’ve stolen it in the first place. Maybe he was trying to teach me a lesson or maybe he realized how shitty the weed we were selling was.

We may never know.

The empire my friend and I had built started to crumble around us once we became a little TOO popular in school. People generally don’t gravitate toward an over-the-top obsessed Limp Bizkit fan, or as you know me…me, and a heavy white kid who wore FUBU.

As our popularity soared we started getting seen more by our Principal and Vice Principal who knew us by name now. We also started to show signs of distress and our own friendship started to deteriorate, we could’ve had our own VH1 Special dedicated to us.

VH1 Behind the insignificant marijuana dealers in Hewlett High School.

So we left the game behind us to be taken over by our peers, but not before one last score.

There was a kid we hated in school and, to be honest, I’m not really sure WHY we hated him so much. The sad part is this is the second time this guy has been brought up on this blog, if you remember the Velvet Revolver story.

One time he asked us if we had any weed for him and so we decided we would sell him a dime while ripping him off by sprinkling some oregano over the top. Cocaine dealers cut their coke with baking powder, we cut our weed with oregano, it’s pretty much expected and it was kind of our calling card.

Before we were to meet him after gym class I saw something on the floor right by my sneaker and I had an epiphany. I called my friend over and said, “dude, let’s fuck with this guy and bag this up.”

My friend was on board so we put it into a bag, walked out of the class and made the deal. The next day we went up to him and asked how much he like our new weed and he was ecstatic. He couldn’t stop RAVING about the weed we sold him.

“Best high I’ve ever had!”, he proclaimed.

My friend and I looked at each other with big grins on our faces that we pulled this last one off and that maybe we could stay in the game a little bit longer if this guy was really telling the truth.

So we went on to the football field and bagged up some more of our new “weed” and planned on selling it to unsuspecting victims, including once more to our first guinea pig.

“Dude, let’s try this shit out, maybe it’s actually worth it!” I said.

So we rolled a joint and started to smoke it. The smell was miserable and it tasted, well, like shit. Worst of all it didn’t get either of us high at all.

Suddenly the kid we hated shows up and asks if we are smoking our new batch and we nod our heads trying to show that we were both tough enough to handle this harsh burn while displaying our satisfaction in what we had discovered.

“Good, I got you back. I never smoked that, you assholes.”

My friend and I shot a glance at each other, not unlike the last time we got away with selling a bag of fake weed to him.

“Did you not think I would notice it was duck shit you sold me?”

After that we both decided it was best to leave the seedy world of weed dealing to the experts and walked away with a horrible taste in our mouths for this line of work.



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