The first time I got high off of weed was not – I repeat NOT – the first time I smoked it.
Already not making sense? Let me back up a bit and explain.
I was what you’d call a good girl in high school and college. I studied hard, wore Eastlands with spiral laces, and considered myself super duper badass if I drank more than three beers. In fact, I have a vivid memory of listening to Madonna’s “Bad Girl” in my dorm room before going to a frat party where I drank basically nothing and hooked up with basically nobody.
Bad girl indeed.
As you might well imagine, the thought of smoking marijuana never entered my mind during these years. In fact, looking back, I’m not sure I was even seriously *offered* any until about halfway through grad school, and even then I very graciously declined. I HAD A FELLOWSHIP, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! I COULDN’T BE RUNNING AROUND SMOKING THE DEVIL’S WEED!
What I’m getting at here is that it wasn’t until I was about 23 years old – done with college, done with grad school, and working my first “real” job – that the opportunity to smoke pot became regularly available to me, and I started to take an actual interest in trying it.
It’s important to point out that at the age of 23 I was in what I’ll generously call a “crummy” marriage, so I spent a lot of my time bar-hopping with girlfriends and gayfriends and pretty much anyone who was willing to tag along. One of our regular haunts was a local brewery and pub, and over the course of time and many fucked-up nights we began to know the bartenders, brewers, and wait staff quite well.
Now, as any of you who have ever worked in the bar and restaurant business know, WEED ABOUNDS. The kitchen staff smoke. The wait staff smoke. The bartenders smoke. The managers smoke. Everybody smokes, and they’ll do it pretty much anywhere. So when I made plans to go to a Ministry concert with the pub’s brewmaster (or at least, I think he was the brewmaster – this was a LONG time ago) it didn’t really surprise me that the evening’s agenda involved busting out a ginormous bag of dope. And I made the decision that I was game.
Anyway. My friend the (possibly?) brewmaster didn’t know it was my first time smoking the demon herb, so before the concert he quite casually asked if I wanted to “hotbox” in the public garage where we’d parked. I boggled. Hotbox? That sounded vaguely like a gardening thing. Not shockingly, it took my friend about .0001 seconds to figure out I had no idea what he was talking about, so he explained: “It’s smoking up in a tiny little place, like a car or a closet, and letting the trapped smoke get you extra high. Do you want to?”
Well. I didn’t want to seem like even more of a tool than I’d already made myself out to be, so I said “SURE WHY NOT IT’LL BE GREAT LET’S DO THIS HOTBOXING THING YEAH BUDDY” or something equally ridiculous. My friend the brewmaster reached into his pocket, pulled out a one-hitter, and proceeded to pack it.
“Ladies first,” was his pronouncement, handing me the packed one-hitter. Which looked kind of like a cigarette. Hey! I’d smoked cigarettes before! This would be no big deal. I took a long and cigarette-y drag, then exhaled almost immediately. And…
My friend the brewmaster looked at me a little weirdly but didn’t say anything. He took his hit, which I noticed was a lot longer and deeper than mine, but whatever. Then it was my turn and I did much the same as I had before. Still nothing.
It went on like this for a while, and I maybe got a wee buzz from the car filling up with smoke, but it was nothing like the high I thought I’d experience. By the time we got to the Ministry concert, my friend was completely stoned and loving life, and I was just… disappointed.
Since that day, I’ve smoked quite a bit more marijuana and I know now that you don’t just take a shallow college-girl drag off of a one-hitter before exhaling the smoke out instantly. Looking back, I marvel at what a dork I was, but we all have to learn sometime. The second time I smoked weed I had a little bit more help and the experience went MUCH more successfully. I got massively high, ate an entire bag of Doritos, and couldn’t stop laughing when my girlfriend drew a crude picture of a lobster claw and spent an hour pontificating about how she could “TOTALLY sell this to Red Lobster.”
And THAT was the first time I got high off of weed.
An earlier version of this piece was published in April 2014 on blog pixie c.d.
“Joint”: marihuana enrollada en papel; 6 November 2013, 16:23:22; Mariano.ramosntic
“Raphael”: Raphael [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons — Modified