Here’s a short list of the best pleasures in life, newly updated:
– Seeing big mountains
– Eating great food
– Copulating
– Buying weed from a store
That last one might be the sweetest. I recently experienced it for the first time.
This was after ten years spent waiting on dealers. It’s the epitome of being powerless; try what you will, but the gods themselves seem to make it so that the dealer will arrive late, always.
Then I went to Toronto, where I got to walk right into a commercial establishment and pay for my bud like an adult.
By the way, did you know that Drake lives in the top-floor penthouse of the city’s tallest skyscraper? I only learned that when I got there. You can see Drake from anywhere in the city center. Whenever we were lost, Drake was the reference point that guided us home. When we were drunk, we prayed to Drake for love and prosperity in the new year.
Anyway, was my purchase legal? Eh, not really. Cannabis legalisation in Canada only officially goes through in July 2018.
It’s complicated. I walked by dozens of dispensaries open to the public. People were going in and out, getting their weed and leaving with it. It was as though they were picking up a nice baguette or a cup of coffee. I was amazed.
If they were out and about and needed to pick up some bud, they can just throw that in their errand-run. That’s not something we have in Montreal. Here, you sit and you better believe you wait for the dealer.
Of course, this makes no sense. Like consumers of all products, cannabis smokers should have access to standard options at their leisure. Where is the justice in paying for random strains? What if I want to close myself in my apartment and play Smash Brothers all month? Imagine I buy a half ounce and get stuck with blue dream. Blue dream?!
Thankfully, the times are changing. Despite cannabis consumption remaining stable through recent decades (shy of consumption levels during the 70s), governments are finally giving stoners what they need: a bit of freedom. Which isn’t much to ask, but it’s nice to finally see it happen.
Having experienced a taste of the future, it’s hard not to think about the poppycock drug runs I’m forced into during this last gasp before legalisation.
I drank tequila the night before buying weed and woke up with a blinding white headache. As I thought of pianos falling down on my head from the sky, I remembered that I can walk two minutes down the street and buy weed. My head throbbed, as if my hangover was trembling at the thought of its cure.
M’lady and I bundled up, and off we went. Just a few steps, and there we were. The windows were covered with posterboard. There was a doorbell and a sign that said to have our government IDs ready. Fair enough, we thought.
We rung the bell and a security guard opened the door. He let us in after we showed him our IDs.
Then, it was magical. All the weeds were there, labeled according to their indica/sativa ratio, with detailed descriptions of their buzz. The setup was simple enough – a small, open space with about 40 strains displayed – but in my mind, it was Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.
Lip aquiver, I scanned the weed kept in huge mason jars. This was my first time window shopping different strains of bud without a looming fear of getting shot. I was able to take my time, have a close look at the nugs. Maybe get to know them for a while, see which ones wanted to come home with me.
M’lady was speaking with the man behind the counter. Apparently, all illegally-run dispensaries in the city will be shut down when the law passes next year. The government will be centralizing the distribution of Cannabis in the same way that alcohol is made available in the city.
So Toronto is in a state of purgatory where everyone seems to be buying and selling regardless. That seems fine.
The man asked us if we liked Star Wars. I said we didn’t. He asked us if we were interested in watching the new Star Wars film. I said we weren’t. He ended up recommending a Star Wars-based strain anyway. It was pink at the ends, an indica-dominant hybrid. It looked delicious. I took a gram and a vial of grand daddy purple for m’lady’s vape pen. He rung me up on an actual cash register, and I left there with a bag of weed – paid for by debit.
This was a complete reversal of a decade-long habit. I had the receipt in my hand, but it didn’t seem real. My body was jittering in violent disbelief. My mind was playing tricks on itself; I was sure that the man behind the counter was an undercover cop out to get me. I braced myself for a circle of police officers to appear out of shrubs and arrest me.
Not knowing who to turn to, I looked up at the sky. Sure enough, there was Drake. I couldn’t see him, but he could see me. He told me not to make things so complicated.
He’s right. Buying weed legally is the way to do it. There’s some resistance to it, of course. It’s a big change. But if I’m able to buy an avocado from a store, I should also be able to get some boom bud.
I walked with m’lady through a greenhouse. We found a park and smoked in it, looking at the Toronto skyline. I thought about Drake up there, watching over his city. Probably getting high.
- Rocco Bambace
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