The beautiful and serendipitous phenomenon of finding drugs.

The first time I ever saw weed, it was found weed. I was in grade school; my friend’s older brother let slip that he’d found his Dad’s stash somewhere in the house. My friend and I were looking for hash when we came across a shoebox in the back of his Dad’s closet. No hash but lots of weed, which neither of us had seen before. “Holy shit” my friend said, “Mom has this at her house too. Lots of it!” We ended up stealing about half an ounce between the two of them.

There were these two friends of mine back in high school, Kirk and Tyrone. Kirk and I both smoked dope but Tyrone wouldn’t touch the stuff. Until one night at The Garage when he kind of had no choice.

The Garage was behind the driveway at another friend’s house, this guy Jason. His parents didn’t give a shit what went on out there. The Garage could comfortably hold about 15 or 20 people but usually managed to accommodate about 30 or 40. The first night I was there, I asked my friend how many people could fit in this tiny little room with the woodstove. He called out to Jason, “Hey man, how many people fit in here last New Year’s Eve?”

“Uh, seventy something, seventy two or seventy four? Seventy something.”

Fuck’s sake, you could hardly fit two Chevettes in here.

So, it was Good Friday, one night back in the 80s. On Good Friday where I grew up, you couldn’t buy beer or booze. Everything was closed. So that Friday night, everyone at The Garage was smoking. Except for Tyrone, who as stated didn’t smoke. But when you put one non smoker in a small room with about 30 potheads, it’s unavoidable. That guy’s going to get high eventually. And Kirk is blowing it in his direction as often as possible.

“Fuck’s sake Kirk, stop blowing that shit in my face.”
“Sorry man, it’s too crowded in here, I got nowhere to go. Jesus, everyone else is smoking hash too ya know. The whole place is hotboxed”

Looks at me, smiles his evil smile and blows more smoke at Tyrone.

Tyrone got high and it took him about three hours to figure out why he felt so good. He said he wished it hadn’t happened, but you could tell he was enjoying the buzz that had come guilt free… He didn’t actually smoke it but he did inhale.

A few weeks later we’re all having a cigarette behind the school. Tyrone notices a bag on the ground… with three joints inside. He kept one for himself and we all shared the other two. That evening he smoked the joint before he went out to buy a quarter ounce. Took him less than a month to get to quarter ounces. All you need is an excuse, I guess. The first one is free.

When I was working at the record store, the better part of ten years ago, this kid about 17 or so comes in to buy Punk O Rama 2 or 3… the one with that stupid Epitaph headed monster pissing on the wall anyway, whatever. 5.99 or something.

A couple of minutes after he left, I walked out from behind the counter and found a little bag on the floor. Scoop. Hit the back room and check it out… Nice, I just found a gram of weed. I wonder what loser dropped that.

Then I start thinking, and I know it’s the kid who bought the punk comp. A gram of weed and a new comp CD sounds suspiciously like a week’s allowance or something, or at least a bigger investment to him than me. And I feel guilty. And I can’t exactly leave the store to go looking for a teenaged kid because it might be his weed. So I decide to hang onto it, and figure that I’ll ask him if I see him.

But I didn’t see him again so I said fuck it and went home and smoked it with my wife. Pretty good too.

Earlier this week, I was walking home from work. Walking along, listening to music and thinking about eating dinner when I saw a little bag on the ground. Stop, turn around. Look again to confirm before I go picking up garbage on the side of the road. Nope, that looks like weed.

Nice, I just found a gram of weed. I wonder what loser dropped that. Stuff it in the pocket and get it home, open it up and it’s a funny feeling. This little pile of chopped up weed that I’ve formed into a little rectangle. I feel like I’m a kid again and I'm trying to remember that line from Reservoir Dogs… Mr. Orange says it, something like, um...

“I don’t even know what ten dollar’s worth… looks like anymore.”

But nope, that’s a weighed gram of doobage, all tied up in the corner of a sandwich bag. And I figure that it probably belonged to another kid and I start to feel bad. For a second.

Fuck that noise, like I never dropped dope before. Like I never lost weed before. Live and learn man, keep it secure. I hope someone found whatever I dropped and made use of it.

So what about you? Have you ever found drugs? Didn’t happen to find mine, did you?


Dan hasn't looked up all week.


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