dope, drug school, drugs, George W. Bush, grass, hemp, I fought the law, nerds, pot, reefer, school, sweet sweet cheeba, Tacoma, Tardsie's True-Ass Tales, Washington, weed
Note: This post has been split into two parts to prevent reading fatigue.
“Where’d you learn that, Cheech? Drug School?”
Trooper Rodney Farva
Part 4 of 4.5. In which dirty deals are done, the author gains a new alma mater, and some weed is consumed.
If you’re coming to us late, be sure to check out the previous three installments in this series, Don’t Forget To Hurt, So Much Love To Share and I’m Tardsie, And I’m An Alcoholic Apparently, so you don’t feel all left out.
The prosecution had nothing on me and they knew it.¹ They’d chosen to be vindictive in light of my juvenile criminal record, believing incorrectly that some combination of distance, fatigue or finances would wear me down. Now, after three court appearances over five grueling months, they were throwing in the towel. But not without a last, teensy-weensy Fuck You! to remember them by: the charges would be dropped, provided that I attend drug school.
This experience proved to be vastly different from previous attempts to fix me, not least in that it proved worthwhile in its own regard, and not simply as fodder for funny stories to be told and retold throughout the years. A great many years had passed since the events related in previous installments of this series, and the nascent human being I had been in those dark times–soft, directionless and vulnerable–was gone, replaced by a new creature, one who had begun to understand himself and what he stood for, one who was not so easily cowed or willing to give away that which was so hard-won, and who would prove to be the not-so-distant forbear of the man I am today.
I was angry–angry for being put in this position. Like envy or honest pain, anger is an emotion which has of late come into general disfavor. Being consumed by anger to the point where it, rather than conscious decision, rules your life is undoubtedly a very bad thing; anger is a terrible master, as untold deaths throughout the span of human history will attest. But when it is the wheel rather than the engine, anger is a powerful servant. My outrage gave me the tenacity to push back ferociously against an overzealous prosecutor. Such was my exasperation over the final agreement that I was determined to get the last laugh. They wanted to send me to drug school? I resolved to spit in their faces by learning something.
There were a variety of drug schools throughout the Puget Sound from which to choose. As has been my way with virtually all of my educational decisions, I didn’t put much thought into it, and picked a school in a run-down neighborhood of Tacoma, Washington not too far from where I’d gone to high school. There were several eight-hour classes scheduled every month, but I chose a private class. It cost a bit more, but I could do it the next day and without a peer-group that represented a rancid smorgasbord of wretched humanity. Most critically, I guessed that without a retinue of stoned mouth-breathers to dumb up the class, I’d be gone from there a long time before eight hours passed.
Not wanting to be late, I arrived at drug school well before the 9:00 AM start time. Nobody had arrived yet, so I parked at the McDonald’s across the street and got high.
Does a degree from drug school help your chances of getting into Hamburger University?
Well, it doesn’t hurt. The admission department at HU looks at a number of factors when reviewing an applicant. Obviously, academics is important, as well as SAT scores (although these sometimes can be waived for older students returning to school from the work force). But an elite institution like HU also wants to see a well-rounded candidate, who can add a certain unique flavor to the campus body. THAT’s where a drug school diploma’s gonna help you.
William Miller said:
If you fail drug school, do they have a summer-school version where you can go get high with the teacher?
That would be sweet. You’d think there’d be the huge potential for abuse, but the typical Drug School student is too stupid and/or stoned to fail right.
I got one of my professors high in college. It was pretty awesome, because she wasn’t a smoker. It was at a party over at her house. Truly a memorable night. It was one of those nights when a variety of options were (possibly) open to me, the likelihood of each of those options ranging from “sure thing” to “long shot.” I went with the sure thing. I don’t regret it.
William Miller said:
That’s my boy! You make me proud.
Nothing like going to a rehab experience totally blitzed. Reminds me of my senior year of high school when I would party every night and the next day would more or less be a detached blur.
I don’t care for weed myself (I’ve not partaken in over 20 years. All I got from smoking the reefer was tired and depressed- with the appetite of a feeder hog.) but I genuinely appreciate the mellowing effect it has on others. Especially Jerry. Back in the day when he could smoke weed and not worry about drug testing, he would get high and mellow and quiet and he would go to sleep early and be blessedly quiet all night. Jerry was a joy to live with when he was all mellow and buzzed on weed. At least he shut up, and didn’t piss in the closet, which is a plus.
Natty overload is a lot different than a weed buzz for Jerry. Natty overload leads to loud country music being played at 1 AM, throwing everything out of the fridge on to the kitchen floor because it “hampers his beer access,” and drunk-n-stupid tirades on how I should take Fanny’s collar and bell off because that’s why Sheena chases her. Fanny wears a bell because she tries to sneak outside, and Sheena chases her because Sheena chases all the cats. Moreover, Sheena doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the bell because Sheena’s DEAF! WhenJerry is in Nattyvana, Jerry does two things: make apocalyptic messes, and make ungodly loud noise. He does not, however, possess even the most rudimentary logic.
I say legalize weed so that the drinkers will get stoned and stay quiet instead. Compared to the behavior of the drunk-n-stupid, keeping them stoned on weed is more of a public service to the rest of humanity.
Ugh. In high school you can DO things like that. These days if I get really drunk (the last time I got barfin’ drunk was several years ago), I can’t function the next day. In my golden youth I could attend an 8:00 AM class after drinking ’till 5:00 AM.
I think like alcohol, weed affects people differently. It generally doesn’t make me stupid or hungry (although it made me ravenous when I was younger), but it does mellow me out. Fortunately, my wife has a similar attitude to it as do you–it’s not for her, but she appreciates its effects on me.
Nicotine is the same. There are obviously a lot of people who get something from it, but
I never did, except a headache, and as for trying to acquire a taste for tobacco, I probably would have been better off with cod liver oil.
Good for you! Nicotine is a pernicious mistress. Unlike you, I was able to develop a taste for it, and that’s putting it mildly. Although I haven’t smoked since 2002 (except in Europe–when in Rome, right?), not a day goes by that I don’t think about it.
I got lucky. A bit like my weak stomach, which meant I rarely saw eye to eye with hard liquor.
Amazing really. And ten years later.
Carrie Rubin said:
“But when it is the wheel rather than the engine, anger is a powerful servant.”—Fabulous line! And I’m assuming you wrote it drug-free. Or at least I’ll believe you did…
And I’m assuming you wrote it drug-free. Or at least I’ll believe you did…
In this, you’re so very much like my mom, bless her heart.
In all honesty, I haven’t done drugs in years. This was written under the influence of nothing more sinister than a little caffeine and some weed.
Carrie Rubin said:
Haha. So subtle that one almost slipped by me. Almost.
El Guapo said:
Oh, I hope the teacher pulled up alongside you for a joint before class too!
(And then, you married that girl.)
That would make for a great ending to the story, but sadly it was not so.
I did once have a girlfriend who was also a stoner–she could roll a joint out of anything. However, I did not marry her, but rather a non-smoking lass. You’d think that would be a bummer, but my weed lasts twice as long!
Smak my mellow friend, you leave us hanging in the parking lot and if figures that you would prepare quite assiduously before taking your first class in drug school. Were you Dazed and Confused? Are you now? How bout now?
Your comments always make me smile. Although you were joking, I’ll answer seriously and clear up something that most people might not understand. As a pretty regular user of cannabinoids, I don’t really get “dazed & confused” per se. The most difficult thing for people to get their heads around is that, for me, the reefer is actually conducive to clear thought. It sounds counter-intuitive, particularly to people who have tried weed before (which I’d guess is about half of the population under 70), because they remember its effects as making them lazy, sleepy or goofy. But the inside of my head is so busy, with so many different notions and ideas competing with one another that it can be hard sometimes just to think an idea through. Cannabis slows my brain down enough that I can concentrate on stuff. I’ve taken a great many tests (GREs, driving tests, professional exams) “under the influence.”
Alex Autin said:
Drug School, I’m guessing this in not where pharmacists go to learn their trade.
I thought so, too! That’s not me by the way. I’m not that musically talented, I’m afraid. On the plus side, though, I’ve got waaaaaaaay better hair.
And you’re right about drug school/pharmacy. I’m pretty sure that going to drug school pretty much precludes you from ever being a pharmacist.
Alex Autin said:
LOL! At first I wasn’t sure if it was you or not. True story….
I believe you. In fact, when I embedded it, I knew that some people might think it was me. I came very close to adding the disclaimer, “This isn’t me. I have way better hair and I would never have a beard like that.”
You know this story is captivating, right? Damn you for leaving us hanging….I can’t believe you got high before you went to class! That took some balls.
You’re always so sweet! And I appreciate you thinking me ballsy for smoking out before drug school. However, what what looks like ballsy is probably a little closer to “wretched” when you consider that’s exactly the same way I prepare to go pick up my dry-cleaning or check the mail.
misunderestimated me…! Great quote, Smak…! 🙂
Sounds like a vendetta…! Obviously it was a ‘good’ result..!
Thanks, Carolyn. As far as it being a “good” result, I guess it was–everything worked out all right in the end, the way it usually does.
Reading this post gave me the munchies.
From photos it appears that your metabolism is kinder to you than mine is to me (but just you wait ’till the next Ice Age, I will be the Great White Lord of the Tundra), so I’m guessing you can afford it. When I was younger, weed used to make me ravenous, which is a dangerous condition for a large mammal like myself. I’ve had to train myself not to get that way, because it’s so very easy for me to pack on the pounds.
I will say this, Large Mammal You, I suspect that you’re still under fifty and maybe even under forty, but once you cross that line into middle age, your metabolism slows down, and that’s how your weight can climb upwards thanks to satisfying the munchies with the nearest box of Cap ‘N Crunch. Maybe you need to switch to heroin … Yes, I’m yanking you. Thanks for the compliment, but it would benefit me to lose ten pounds.
10 pounds. Okay, whatever–I’m looking at your picture from your blog, and given that the camera adds ten pounds (and the Great Gazoo another 5), I think you look lovely.
I suspect that you’re still under fifty and maybe even under forty, but once you cross that line into middle age, your metabolism slows down,
I know more about the treacherous nature of the metabolism and the pitfalls of middle age than you might think, as the following anecdote may illustrate.
As a kid, I wasn’t just a large mammal–I was straight-up fat. My junior year I was tied with a special ed kid for fattest kid in school (this isn’t a pity party–I swear!). But the good thing about that is that being so ridiculously overweight so young forced me to learn how to be healthier and do it the right way (exercise more, eat less). It also made me aware of what I eat.
Now, I’ve never been a slim dude (again, large mammal), but I do try pretty hard to set an example for my Boys. And a few years ago, when I went to my 20th reunion, I was probably somewhere under the 50th percentile in terms of blubberiness.
I understood then the great truth that the metabolism’s infidelity comes only as a shock to the slender. The fat kid’s known for quite a while.
“A shock to the slender” could be the name of a reality TV series … There’s a lot of Photoshopping in my banner and not just the part where I’m being shot out of a cannon.
What?!? Well, for God’s sake tell me that Gazoo is real.
Things I learned from this post: hamburgers are delicious! They should do a study on which is worse weed, or the bathroom aftermath of the McDonalds binge eating that surely followed.
Thanks, JK–well, if Morgan Spurlock is to be believed, I’d say the latter is worse!
Cakes and Shakes... said:
LOL @ “They wanted to send me to drug school? I resolved to spit in their faces by learning something.” Forbear of the man to come, indeed 🙂
Thanks, C&S! I’m glad yo enjoyed it. I had a lot of fun writing this series, although when I originally composed it (excepting the Debriefing) one afternoon, it was 2,000 words. When I broke it up into parts, it got longer. Having said that, I’m glad to be done. Drugs are more fun to do than to talk about.
Cakes and Shakes... said:
A-men! You won’t ever find me on any kind of high horse preaching about how ‘bad’ they are, live and let shoot up and all that, but they’re not and never have been for me. Booze, now, entirely another story 🙂