I emerged from the large Hatefire building into the heated streets of LA. The sun was overhead beating down on me but I had a fairly good buzz on so I embraced the warmth I could feel wrapping around me. After finishing college with a degree in philosophy I often felt caught up in a type of cerebral prison; feeling the sun on the back of my legs reminded me of a time where all the bridges to reality I tried to cross did not self implode – all the ones I took advantage of as a kid.
I decided to go for a stroll around downtown La La land before heading home. I had honed and used my ability to watch people over the years and as a result was able to spot many smokers, some of whom I converted to loyal customers. At that point in my life I had enough buyers to live comfortably so often I liked to simply walk around and watch people. If I spotted a potential buyer so be it, but generally I followed the advice given to me and spent a good portion of my time as the silent observer. There seems to be so much more that becomes apparent about people when you stop hearing their voice and really listen to them. I looked ordinary in a sense that I could fit into a broad stereotype and coast deep within the waters whose surface, upon meeting the fleeting air of social interaction, can get quite stormy.
Having gotten a bit higher than I initially intended my mouth was really dry and although I usually make a point to carry gum I did not have any on me. Spying an ice cream stand on a particular boardwalk it seemed that this would be an adequate substitution for gum and while quenching my dry mouth, I would also get the tongue massage of a million little Neapolitan hands that would hopefully cool me down just a little bit. I approached the little ‘walk up to the window’ type building and took a place in the lineup behind quite an attractive woman. As she heard me approach from behind she glanced back towards me as I looked away pretending not to care that she was looking at me. Why is it that the more attractive a woman is, the more we feel the need to act like we don’t give a shit about them? I pondered the question for a moment and became depressed at myself, was I such a pothead that I could not even talk to what appears to be a friendly woman when she’s standing right in front of me? Why should real human interaction have to suffer with the advent of materialsm? I decided to stand up for my right to engage in ice cream line conversation and prepared to brave the barren wasteland of misunderstanding and misinterpretations that existed in the short space between my mouth and of her set of ears.
“So…uh, what flavor are you getting?â€
The tall blonde turned around. She was skinny, face smooth and round; her eyes were spaced slightly too far apart but they seemed to be big enough to make up for the difference. It is odd how beauty works that way, lends credence to the symmetry theory. The twin pools of liquid sapphire looked me over with a smile on her face. See, I knew she would be friendly. “Heh, are you being serious right now? Are you actually talking to me about what fucking flavor I’m going to get? Listen to me, why don’t you take your skinny ass, and your backpack and go back to whatever place you were in when you were trying to pretend I didn’t exist because for all intensive purposes I do not exist to you after I finish saying this sentence.â€
The words seem to hammered away at my face and got more intense as the mini rant went on. In shock I simply stared at her for a couple of seconds, I honestly didn’t know what to say.
“What the fuck is your problem jerkoff? Why don’t you stop being annoying and fuck off?â€
I couldn’t take it anymore; I had to let it out. With this I erupted into a fit of laughter, I was laughing so hard I could barely stand. I had one hand on my knee and the other trying to point at her but often dropping to steady myself as I continued to laugh. She was asking what I was laughing at but I had past the point of answering her questions. “Oh man†I finally breathed standing up; she was standing, arms folded across her shapely chest, furious. “Heh, no wonder I’m a pothead,†I said out loud, but more to myself than anything, staring past her intentionally,
“Fucking jackass, I’m a corporate CEO, who the hell are-… wait did you say pot?â€
“Yeah. Why?†I silently cursed at myself; how could I have not spotted such a typical case?
“I’ve been trying to get some forever!†she exclaimed, exasperated. It was a fairly fluid transformation but I could literally see it taking place before me; the tall blonde shifted from frigid bitch to sensuous acquaintance. She moved a bit closer, looking me over again and biting her lower lip slightly, those endless pools of transfixing blue sparkle staring into my eyes, trying to suck the life from within me.
She was one of the worst kinds of smokers. Likely with an couple of complexes this woman is a stress ridden work machine who will stop at nothing to get what she wants, including, most likely her own health and/or death. The problem with people like her is that smoking pot can make you physically kind of mellow, unreceptive to nervous twitches, sugar highs, etc, but it is not so effective at numbing the emotional responses one feels throughout the course of a day, especially a corporate day like herself. I mean think about it, when you watch a sad movie stoned you get a little tearier eyed than Johnny Regular, the same goes for when someone pisses you off. If you are in a authoritarian position where there are no real repercussions for certain behavior, the paranoia is not enough to stop furious and sudden aggressive action. They bombard themselves with pot in an attempt to find some peace of mind but in the end only half attain it, all the while stuffing the problems under a gray rug of neurochemical activity.
Still though, business is business.
“Hey there, name’s Geraldâ€
