It’s no secret that pot is now legal in Colorado. I didn’t think it would affect me that much, but apparently it has.
Two words: Marijuana Tourism.
It took me exactly two seconds to realize what brought my latest clients to my AirBnB space. Mary J.
As I checked them in (here is the coffee maker, here’s the wi-fi password, etc.) Cheech (not his real name) sat on the couch and stared at the blank TV and giggled like
James Franco a complete idiot.
Then the smell of skunk wafted through two closed doors and down the stairs into the living room.
Since they weren’t breaking any laws, I didn’t really have much to complain about except now my house smells like the set of Pineapple Express.
As long as they don’t smoke it at my house (or cigarettes, cloves, salvia, catnip, meth or crack for that matter, you know about me and house fires) it’s cool. Kinda.
I was privy to the conversation between the two of them while Cheech was in the shower and Chong (not his real name) was pooping.
That Maui Wowie sure does make for supreme chattiness. And closeness.
It wasn’t that I was trying to eavesdrop, homeboys were seriously loud.
Some choice nuggets (ew), for your entertainment.
“Oh my god, dude! So much of your hair is going down the drain! Why do you have so much hair and I don’t?!” (I cringed on Loony’s behalf because he’s gonna have to dig it out of the drain)
“I’m gonna go to a medical dispensary and see if they have any weed that will make my hair grow back.”
“Dude, it’s snowing! What are we going to do?”
“We could smoke some more WEED and do some indian tribal shit.”
This is some pithy conversation so I tried to get Moneypenny to come up and listen with me.
Some things are better enjoyed with others.
But she wasn’t working so I’m sharing it with you.
While I sat at my computer dutifully writing down every word I heard, Cheech’s phone rang.
“Oh, hey. I’m out of town. I’m in Denver!”
(Psst! You are actually in Boulder.)
“Yah, Chong’s mom bought us tickets to come out here so we could look for a job for him. He’s checking out the University of Boulder.”
(It’s the University of Colorado at Boulder but whatever, it’s a fine distinction. And, FYI, wandering around campus all baked is not the same as applying for a job.)
His mom paid for him and his friend to come out here and find a job!!!!
OH.MY.GOD. Talk about money going down the toilet.
I was complaining about the lack of focus and kids these days! at dinner when two guys from the next table over were like, “Duuuude! I am totally like that when I’m stoned, too!”
I was like, “Bro, you are totally like that right now,”
And he was all, “Hahaha! I KNOW!”
He continued, “Legalization is so great! You used to have to try not to be stoned for your job interview (there is not try, only do, brah) but now when you get the job everyone is all, LET’S FIRE IT UP!”
“And how is it going, this job of which you speak?”
I should send my VRBO tenants over since they are looking for work. And I should give my employees a raise for being reasonable, coherent, non-stoned-at-work kinda people.
Just kidding. About the raise, I mean.
Hopefully they made it home because the last I heard, they were debating whether TSA would notice they had weed on their persons.
“Dude, they will totally bust you for having Chapstick but once I carried an ounce and they didn’t even notice!”
Really? I would totally risk jail time for that kind of anecdotal evidence.
I should have offered to, ahem, dispose of their surplus weed for them. Just to be safe, ya know.
I’m guessing they smuggled it onto the plane … in their bloodstreams.
MJ is legal. That’s great. I’m not saying alcohol is better than weed, because it’s not. It’s worse, way worse and in so many ways…
BUT AT LEAST WITH BOOZE YOU HAVE THE DECORUM TO NOT SHOW UP DRUNK TO A JOB INTERVIEW OR GET WASTED BEFORE NOON BECAUSE THAT MEANS YOU’RE AN ALCOHOLIC AND HAVE A PROBLEM.
But if you get baked before lunchtime*, no problemo. There ain’t nothing wrong with being a wastoid. It’s legal yo!
Guess what, so is booze and last I heard, it is totally uncool to be a raging alcoholic, albeit a friendly and lovable one.
(*All people using MMJ for medical purposes are exempt from my scorching, self-righteous judgement; and I’m not talking about the people who faked back/knee/head/stomach pain to score a prescription. You know who you are. Nor am I talking about people who smoke recreationally when it’s appropriate to alter yourself, as in when you aren’t driving or trying to present yourself to the world in a professional manner. Heck, I don’t really give a crap about weed and who smokes it and when unless they are stinking up my house.)
The upside is that now that it is legal to smoke down, this is probably legal, too.
Here’s a tip for you MJ tourists who want to keep it on the down-low at your hotel/rental.
Jesus, I can’t get over how old and grumpy I sound. I’m really not that square, I just like it when people can track conversations at 10 in morning. Come 9pm on a weekend and the kids are with the babysitter, heck, anything goes I guess.
I wish pot was legal everywhere so we, as a culture, can figure out how to co-exist with it and I then I wouldn’t have to re-write my rental descriptions to nicely tell people that I really don’t want my kids wondering why the house suddenly smells like roadkill and there are confused people wandering around.
Now I must open all the windows, launder everything and Febreeze the shit out my rental. Maybe I’ll strike gold and find a bud they’ve accidentally left behind because after all, only users lose drugs.