I’m a weed delivery guy. Business has been kind of weird ever since Wall Street’s little heart attack last week. Surprisingly it hasn’t slowed down, but everything is more of a hassle. For instance, lately whenever someone hands over money they kind of pull it back before finally giving it up. Or they’ll place it down on a table—people are much more reluctant to literally hand over the cash. Also, a lot of people have been asking if I’ll sell them less than $50 worth of pot. The answer is no. I’m not riding my ass to your house for a dime bag. My favorite though is when I get to a destination and the person who called asks if I can spot them. I just reach in my pockets and pull out some green lint. Why are you people wasting my time?
Another thing that's happened lately is the I-need-a-better-paying-job-otherwise-I might-have-to-quit remarks have been getting really popular. These mostly come from fuckhead white kids in their 20s or early 30s who wouldn’t stop smoking if their lungs collapsed and whose current jobs involve either washing dishes or jerking off while playing video games.
Everyone who works or did work in the financial world looks like they just attended ten back-to-back funerals when I show up at their apartments. A lot of them have been laid off or just continue to show up to their offices hoping something will happen. They typically hang out in pairs or triads, chipping in, going half. Recently this broke-banker guy said to me: “Man, I’m dying in this mess.” I held his 50 up to the light to check for watermarks and told him, “If you were really dying, you wouldn’t complain about it. You’d just accept it.”
This might violate client ethics or something, but two of my customers have recurring forms of cancer. They are actually dying. They’re also the two people whose faces light up the most whenever I walk through the door. I’d much rather sell to these people than the clowns who are a credit card bill away from throwing themselves out of the Chrysler Building, but unfortunately I don't get to pick and choose.
It’s a good thing I don’t have to pay taxes because I don’t think the same people who ruined our economy have the right to do it all over again on my dime. In fact, this shit doesn’t even really affect me besides for my increasingly annoying clients. My job is recession-proof, depression-proof, and every day is a tax-free payday. I might suggest that all of these white-collar down-and-outers look into my line of work, but they’re too spoiled to handle it and I don’t need any more competition than I already have.
I'M NOT SIGNING MY NAME TO THIS BECAUSE I SELL DRUGS FOR A LIVING
Photo by Ed Zipco.