Green Room Diaries: #IceCreamMatters

My buddy Josh is up from Humboldt County, CA, which is more or less the weed capital of the world. Humboldt folk are used to extremely good pot, but lack variety in their dispensaries (scratch that, dispensary). So, I decide to show him how cool Oregon’s laws are, by taking him to one of the most upscale dispensaries in Salem. We walk into Name Omitted Due To Legality Remedies and the place looks like an Apple store; everything is encased in glass, tons of options are laid out and, for the most part, it’s all pre-packaged and polished. I’m stoked, so I buy a few blunts like a grown-ass adult. Josh, however, takes one look at the cannabis ice cream and makes a high-pitched screech—emulating a gay teenager, who just learned that his parents have just accepted his coming out by buying him tickets to Pat Benatar. Fine—he can go with the Sprinkleberry Double Dutch Unicorn Thunderfuck Sherbert Pie and I will stick with the tried-and-tested, Snoop-approved cannabis delivery method.

When we get to the counter, the lady working the register sells me my "medical" blunts (here’s tobacco wrapped around something called Chem Dawg, with a free lighter—hope your lungs feel better soon).

However, she refuses to sell Josh the ice cream.

"What, cause he’s black?" I ask, with a smug, liberal undertone that says "I’ll have this place shut down faster than Señorita Becky’s Badass Tacos."

"No," the apparently-not-a-racist budtender replied, "...it’s because he doesn’t have a medical card. He’s ’recreational’ and that ice cream is for medical patients only."

Apparently, since I have a medical card (I can’t remember what it’s for...Asperger’s, or something like that), but my buddy does not—he can buy certain items, but not others. This type of customer is what is known as "recreational," which is a fancy word for "pays tax on a plant."

The lady at the front continued, while opening a pamphlet and explaining it to me like a toddler who was learning about pot for some reason. "It is technically a felony for me to sell your friend this ice cream, regardless of his race. Here is a list of state laws that highlight how we allow naked adults on bicycles to ride past the playground, but won’t permit non-cardholders to consume pot sherbet."

Let’s go ahead and back up a smidge; we legalized weed because society came to a consensus that no one should be tossed in jail for a plant. However, we’ve reached a point where the following scenario is not only likely, but possibly already come to fruition:

"Hey bruh, what you in here for?"

"I stabbed my wife to death with an ice pick and then sold her corpse to child porn producers on the deep web. After that, I fucked my dog to death and shot up a Planned Parenthood, before carving a swastika into a baby and attending a Kenny Chesney show, where I was eventually busted for DUI. Who knew you could get one of those on a tractor? What are you in here for, man?"

"Uhh...sherbet. WEED sherbet."

We eliminated the "just a plant" criminal and created an entirely new black market for illegal, synthetic Ben & Jerry’s. Felonies are not tickets; bench probation and assrape aren’t even playing fields.

With all due acknowledgment given to the bigots and Nazis who reside on the right, it is important to take note of the insanity that exists on our side, being the tolerant and progressive left. We are supposed to be forward-thinkers, but, as of late, we’ve been nothing but regressive. This is a fine example of postmodern nonsense. I don’t usually get into politics, but you’re more likely to go to jail for misgendering someone’s dog, than you are for accidentally running it over in an auto-piloted Tesla. We need to return to sanity and a "no more illegal ice cream" platform is a good start.

Back to the lecture at hand, there we were, in a store that sells 98.6% THC vape concentrates (which are so pure, you can use them in the front row of the Lancaster Mall Cinemas, while watching Straight Out Of Compton as the only white guy in the theater and still not get noticed...in theory). My buddy is being told that ice cream is a felony in Oregon, so I did what any friend would do. I bought the ice cream for "myself" *wink*, while my buddy changed his mind and bought the blunts I was planning on buying.

Then, we walk behind a shady dispensary, in a not-so-safe part of town, sneaking into an alley. Sketchy looking white dude, upper-class-looking black dude. Cash in one hand, paper bag in the other.

"Hey man, you got the shit," Josh asks.

"Yeah, dude. Here it is," I respond while presenting a paper bag. "But, it’s gonna cost you."

"Here you go," Josh responds, while handing me a wadded knot of cash.

"You’re gonna enjoy it, dude. Go easy on the first scoop."

Suddenly, cops appear from out of nowhere. I am thrown up against the car, gently, before being given a ticket. Josh reaches for his wallet—to present his identification—the cops yell, "HE HAS A FUCKING ROCKET LAUNCHER!" and shoot Josh seventeen times in the back.

I may or may not be making that last part up, but let’s just consider this column "flash fiction inspired by the Oregon marijuana industry" and hope it holds up in court.

#IceCreamMatters