I’ll have you note the title of this post. This is the first time I made the acquaintance of Mrs. Mary Jane Warner. This was not the time that I fell in love with cannabis, but it is the first time I got to know her.

It was March and I was 17. Not a kid, like the opposition likes to say, but almost a consenting adult. I worked at a Long John Silver’s/A & W (that’s no longer there) at 49th and State Avenue in Kansas City, KS. For those of you who don’t know my neck of the woods, that’s not a particularly nice area. Not quite Compton, but closer to Compton than Orange County. What I’m sayin’ is; it was kinda ghetto. Projects, drugs, hookers, we had it all! Anyway, I was working with two individuals named Spencer and Susan.

Spencer was a middle aged black guy and Susan was a pretty big white lady who worked the drive through. Spence was my fry cook in the back, and when we got it shakin’ we rocked the shit back there. I digress. One fine day, we all got off of work; myself, Spencer, Susan, and my older brother Zach who also worked with us. (He got me the job. See? It is who you know!) Susan offered to give us a ride home.

Spencer had the weed.  He fired it up, drew deeply and asked us in his husky choked voice, ‘You guys smoke weed?’

Every indoctrinated inclination said, ‘no’. The part of me that still feels the tug of the sea from my Irish Ancestors when the leaves turn golden; the part of me that wants to explore the depths and regions of the world; the part of me that wanted every last experience that this short flick of time we call life has to offer… That part said ‘yes’.

What the hell? I thought. Why not? It’s just a plant. It can’t be all that bad. Plus, my Mom and Dad both admitted to using it in their youth and they seemed pretty well adjusted. It couldn’t be a frying pan and my brain certainly wasn’t an egg.

As far as consequences? Well, Mom pretty much said ‘I won’t bail you out if you get caught, and don’t bring it into my house.’ And of course, ‘And if you’re high, I’ll know.’ Mom was pretty righteous in that regard. Left me to make my own decsions and face my own consequences. There was the possibility of getting caught, but even at 17 I knew that I would be okay if we got caught. It was my first time, and I didn’t possess any contraband. So, no real fear.

I said yes before my brother did. I put the brakes on his desire to also get high. ‘Mom will know if we’re both high. We’ll both be screwed. We need one of us to be the straight man, and by the ‘Rules of First’ school of law I was rightfully the one meant to get baked.’ He conceded that point, and I forever owe him for that. Muchos Props, ‘ermano.

They passed me the joint and instructed me in the art of smoking it. As Spencer put it, ‘Smoke it like a cigarette, but hold your breath.’ I did. I passed it. Wash, rinse, repeat.

I don’t remember getting high. I remember getting dry mouth like mad and the munchies descended upon me. I felt paranoid… ya know, maybe I did get a little high. At least enough to get cotton mouth, munchies and paranoia. However, I don’t remember any real psychedelic effects.

They dropped Zach and I off at our house and I grunted out a ‘thank-you’. That thank you was monosyllabic; Caveman manners. I shambled into the house.

My mother was watching TV when we came in.

‘She knows.’ A Gollum Voice inside my head.

No, she don’t.

‘Oh, yes she does! Red eyes, you’re not talkative, you’re-‘ The Gollum voice.

-SHE WON’T KNOW IF I DON’T LOOK AT HER! SHUT UP!

Amazingly, it did. But not before instructing me to find the thief because we hates it forever. Moving on…

Moms said ‘hello,’ and watched nonchalantly as I grunted a reply (‘Ey’), and proceeded to go to the kitchen and make the biggest sandwich I’ve ever attempted to make let alone shove down my throat. I grabbed a bag of either Cheetos or Doritos, (Wow. I guess I was pretty high…), a two liter bottle of Coke, and headed up to my room.

Where I promptly gobbled it all up in such a speed and manner that I’m amazed I didn’t die from a piece of Fritos product lodged in my throat. I then rolled over on my bed-

and passed out.

I woke up around midnight (6 hours later) with my shoes on.

Wow. Good times.

Now, time to see if any of my family feels like verifying this story.

-Legalize It!-
-PT-