Richard Daybell – Novels, stories and short humor
The Vermont House of Representatives has passed a bill decriminalizing small amounts of marijuana. To some this makes a lot of sense, allowing law enforcement to concentrate on more serious criminal activity and bringing punishment into line with other similar victimless offenses. To others this is the proverbial slippery slope, the beginning of a slide leading to legalization and eventually into utter moral depravity.
Bring on that slippery slope I say. Smoking pot will be my new vice.
I am of the age that back during my years of trying stuff out the stuff I tried out was alcohol. I was in the gin generation. I didn’t ever consider playing with marijuana. At that time, it was still considered Reefer Madness, the first step down the road to total Man with the Golden Arm addiction.
I wouldn’t even have known how to procure it if I was going to try it. Should I go hang around a school playground and wait for some seedy character to offer me some? Alcohol was easy – you just siphoned a little at a time out of your parents’ liquor bottles until you had enough for a party. On several occasions, my parents would wake up in the morning with a bit of a hangover, amazed at the amount they seemed to have polished off the night before.
I did try marijuana a little later on. The first time was at a dinner party where our with-it hosts pulled out an elaborate water pipe for those who wished to indulge. I indulged, but having already consumed a fair amount of alcohol I couldn’t really divine the source of that rather pleasant buzz. On another occasion, neighbors in the apartment above us had found their son’s stash of pot and brought some down for us all to enjoy while we watched 42nd Street on television. As I recall, Ruby Keeler really kicked butt that night.
But that was then, this is now. And after a very long hiatus, I’m ready to puff those magic dragons. Of course times are different now. I’m not about to go to a rock concert and pass a smoke around to the fifty or sixty people standing nearby. I’ve become more refined now; I go to more refined places. During the intermission after the second act of La Traviata, I’m not about to suggest to my companion that we share a joint. I must be more dignified. “Shall we step outside and abuse a substance?”
And about this rolling your own. I’m a bit challenged on that score. Back a long time ago, when we thought it was cool to roll our own cigarettes, I usually ended up with tobacco all over my lips and a very unsatisfying smoke. I’d rather not go there again. Perhaps when smoking pot is not a criminal activity, they will manufacture nice little firm and round and fully packed marijuana cigarettes.