One of my housemates friend is staying for a few days and she asked me if I could get any cannabis. I said no. I could of done but it isn’t worth the hassle.
I could never really get into smoking drugs, hash, weed, whatever. I only bought it for myself a few times and that was through a friend who sold it on to me.
One reason is that I have no need to smoke something that will make me a more lazier person than what I already am. I need no help with that.
But another reason is that I just can’t be dealing with drug dealers. The amount of time over the years that I’ve wasted in some grimy small time drug dealers flat because a mate wanted to get some weed.
My mate wants to buy some drugs, the dealer wants to sell some drugs so do the deal and get out of there. But no, I had to go into the flat and sit on the tatty cherry bombed sofa while small talk commences and a hyperactive pit bull type mongrel jumps up at me. Eventually he gets the scales out and weighs out the drugs. Right it’s in a bag, it’s in my mates hand and the money is handed over. Great, now can we get out of here please? No, my mate takes out a rizla opens the bag and proceeds to roll a joint.
So now it will be at least another twenty minutes of sitting on the edge of a stained sofa while pretending to listen to their tedious conversation.
Why feel the need for this fake social interaction ritual? When you buy a loaf of bread you don’t cut the loaf and eat a sandwich with the baker.
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