I was strictly a consumer of weed for nearly 19 years before I became a weed hustler. In all that time, almost every guy or girl that I bought weed from was more or less an asshole. Still, I have a soft spot for all those people. Every prickly asshole has their charms. I’m convinced, however, that it doesn’t have to be that way, and I very conscientiously make a huge effort to be a very warm, friendly, honest, and ultra-respectful alternative to the hundreds of impersonal large slave delivery services. It helps that I genuinely like people, and most of my clients are people that I genuinely look forward to seeing.
There are other dimensions to weed dealer assholery. Like, paranoid for seemingly no reason assholes. This one guy, however, as a consumer, I really got wrong. Once I called my guy and asked if I could refer a client and bring him with me to his house. “Just you, and you alone,” he said, angrily. I was pissed because I had been a loyal, problem-free client for more than ten years when I asked about referring a friend. Here’s what I couldn’t understand at that time as a consumer: Any dealer working out of his house, as this guy was, is at risk of having that house and everything inside confiscated in a bust. Or, if the wrong people find out you have a pound or two, and find out where you live, you, as a dealer, could get your brains blown out. Sadly, it happens all the time, sometimes for as little as a quarter or half pound.
Even just a half-pound of stolen prime shit is life-changing money if they retailed that stolen merch, a couple grams at a time. A half-pound of Sour Diesel could bring in six grand or more. Or if someone doesn’t know a dealer personally or care about that dealer, and they know where that dealer lives, they can and might set that dealer up with police if they get in trouble themselves on drug related charges. So anybody working drugs out of their own home has all this and more to worry about every time someone new shows up on their doorstep.
In my guy’s case, a friend of a friend stole a pound and almost beat my guy to death in the process. In that case, as the consumer/client I was the asshole, not him. If a friend of your friend tried to kill you by beating your skull in for a pound of weed, I guarantee you would be a giant prickly paranoid asshole too! Some of these dealers have to put their freedom in the hands of total strangers, as often as twenty times a day, seven days a week. That does something to the human psyche, and it’s generally not good.
Having said that, a little love and respect would go a long way, and I wonder, weed dealers of the world…WOULD IT KILL YOU TO SHOW US SOME?!!