Stoner Stories, Tales of a Millennial stoner

Hello fellow citizens of the City of Grass,


Ive been a lurker on here for a while but never really bothered to post anything.


This changes today!


Being a fairly seasoned stoner, I feel like I can attempt to teach through my own close calls and life experiences. So I want to start a series of stories, detailing my wonderful history with the holy herb.


I will start this story where most stoner stories start, home alone in a friends attic.


The Beginning

Living in suburbia isnt all that bad, there is always something to do as a teen. You have friends, lots of open space and tons of free time. I was lucky, alot of my friends around the neighbourhood went to the same school as I did. The close proximity allowed our little group to accomplish alot. We organized street hockey tournaments, took over the neighbourhood pool and even formed a couple bands. And it was during the formation of one of these bands, that everything would change.


I was always a sub-par musician, I tried ( without success) to play a lot of instruments. The clarinet, trumpet, guitar, etc. Through some level of god like decision making, my friends deemed me a competent bass player. With another god tier decision , that I would later find out was heavily influenced by injecting all the pot, they decided that we would play Metallica. Like most teens, we were going through our rebellious phase. Not that we were particularly rebellious kids, or actually rebelled in anyway, but in an attempt to feel cool we all listened to copious amounts of metal.


I digress however, it was after one particularly long Friday night band practice that we would be surprised with the news that we had the house to ourselves. My friends parents were going out and would be gone for the next couple hours. Being an innocent young lad, I had heard of the devils lettuce but never had actually seen or smoked it. That would change tonight, as the drummer of our bootleg metal band produced a small one gram baggie of weed and a bubbler. The surprise was obvious on my face as the weed was ground and tightly packed into the bowl of the device.


“ Have you smoked before?” my friend asked me as the bubbler made its way around. Keeping the look of shock and awe on my face. I shook my head without breaking eye contact with ever encroaching bubbler prompting raucous laughs from my bandmates. I didn’t have long to think about this though, the bubbler rapidly made its way around to me and I found myself holding the alien device with lighter in hand.


Being a coach for many other new smokers, I can imagine what my face looked like now. A mixture of utter confusion, wonder and a twinge of fear of what could happen. I never received the weed was the devil conversation and I was lucky enough to realise D.A.R.E was complete bullshit. I had no qualms about trying cannabis for the first time, but I was still scared. Like someone who is about to get on a roller coaster for the first time. My heart was beating out of my chest and my hands were shaking with anticipation.


I was very quickly given a crash course in smoking a bubbler, pointed towards the business end and taught what not to do before I was greeted by cheers of “Hit it man”. Without more than a second thought and following the brief set of directions I received, I brought the apparatus to my lips and lit the plant matter inside. After what felt like a second or three, I inhaled what felt like the entire contents of the bowl and proceeded to cough up my lungs after quickly handing the bubbler back to my new stoner coach. I coughed for what felt like ages, agonizingly trying to gasp for air in a what I was now convinced was full of tear gas. Every gasp only brought on more coughing fits which prompted louder laughter from my friends. After what felt like an eternity, and a full bottle of water later, I finally came to rest on the couch but there was a problem. After all of that coughing, after all the nervousness, I felt nothing short of a sore throat. Maybe this weed thing wasn’t all that great, was this it? Is this all im going to feel? It has never been in my character to take something purely at face value, I had to investigate this fully. So in the spirit of due diligence I took the bubbler again as it came around but decided I would really rip the complete hell out of this bowl.


Well rip the bowl I did…..

Today, I can equate the feeling to CS gas and after getting tear gassed twice I am pretty aware of the feeling of its effect. Back then however, I could only equate the coughing fit I was going through as death. As I laid on the floor, drooling and unable to draw a breath, that’s what I thought was going to happen until I was finally able to grasp sweet sweet oxygen. This was different however, I could feel what felt like my eyes tightening and muscles in my body relaxing themselves slowly. The burning sensation in my lungs slowly dissipated and I felt slow and sudden waves of vertigo before suddenly snapping back to where I was, sitting on the floor staring at the wall.


‘So this is was everyone was talking about’, I remember thinking as I shakily moved myself to the couch and sat down. The Call of Duty (Modern Warfare 1) that was on the TV suddenly became much more interesting and even the slightest comment, joke or even noise would make me break a rib from laughter. I was completely and utterly, without question stoned and found the experience to be very pleasant. Given my experience now, I was lucky to experience weed for the first time around friends in a controlled environment. Without the right setting and people, I understand how this feeling could get very unenjoyable quickly.


I will end this chapter with a quick stoner pro tip. Setting is everything, try your best to enjoy the herb with good friends and conversation.

 

Freedom


Despite the first taste of the holy herb, I wouldn’t smoke again for another year. As a young teen without drivers license, you are at the whim of your parents and most parents and after the band broke up ( read, got bored of playing Metallica) there was no reason to make the trek anymore. That would change as I got my full drivers license, I was now free to travel the roads.

People come and go during high school, many of my friends had graduated and were on to bigger and better things in other cities but a stoner friend is never far from reach. I never realized how little you actually know people you go to school with. I was a junior at this point and I had known this friend for a little over 2 years. We had played football together, wrestled together and ate lunch together almost every day over the past two school years. It was almost comical how we found out each other smoked, once you smoke the devils lettuce once you never forget the smell. You become a blood hound for the herb, even the slightest whiff is identifiable. One day in the parking lot of our school this innocuous odor wafted to where we normally parked our cars prompting jeering jokes and banter.


“ Wait….you smoke?” my friend exclaimed almost surprised he didn’t know before

“ Yes, I have haven’t in a bit” I replied oblivious to the scheming going on behind his glasses.


The look of utter joy flashed across his face in a sense of renewed brotherhood, a look I would come to learn comes from desire for a smoking buddy. He let out a loud “BRO!” and we were quickly making plans to toke up later that night, sharing our small repertoire of stories as we planned. I would of never guessed he was a stoner, but I guess I didn’t look the part either.


Freedom of movement was something my parents always advocated, based off trust and growing responsibility. It wasn’t like I told my parents that I was going to smoke the ganja with my friend but I didn’t lie to them either. I was going to meet a friend, that is true, but I was not going to disclose what we were doing while we were hanging out ( even if im sure they knew, my parents were pretty “savvy”). They trusted me enough to know that I wasn’t going out and doing any hard unmentionables or committing crimes, we were good kids despite our love for the Mary Jane.


I made the trek out to my friends place and was quickly received by my friend in his front yard. I parked hopped out and was waved over to his car, we got in and off we went again into the black abyss of country roads and farms. It was here that I was introduced to two new aspects of the smoking life, a new contraption called a bowl and the new method called “ rolling and bowling”. We would drive around, passing a bowl back and forth between the two of us, completely free from prying eyes of parents and hopefully law enforcement. Sometimes we would walk onto the golf course after dark and lay out in the middle of the green staring up at the stars and talking about our future’s. These were great times, we were free and we had friends to share in our freedom. Two kids on a golf course in the middle of the night would not raise any eyebrows, we were relatively safe from anyone who would kill our high. Afterward however, I would learn the impairing effects of marijuana and the crippling effects of the munchies.

Of course all good time had to come to an end and we had to go back to our respective homes. Being a relatively new smoker, I can say without a doubt that I was utterly smacked and driving high was a new experience. I thank the gods that I was a good driver with a good teacher, but I still made all the classic driving stoned mistakes. I would find myself cruising 35 in a 50 mph zones, waiting for stop signs to turn green and even forgetting where I was a times. In retrospect, this was not a smart decision and I wouldn’t advocate any of it, but we were young, dumb and extremely lucky.


I want to conclude this story with yet another bit of sage advice. Don’t drive and smoke, it wont be until later that I would find out how vulnerable you actually are while driving and smoking. Not to mention how dangerous it is to yourself and those around you. Be smart when you smoke, one or two people is a good group to smoke with but three and above just draws attention to yourself when your out in public. I live by the words of Sgt Horvath from Saving Private Ryan “ ten men is a golden opportunity but one man is a waste of ammo”

 

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am back, with more stories of being a millennial stoner.

School and life has a habit of completely reducing your ability(read will) to write. After a long break and many stories to tell, I am ready to continue this life's work of stoner stories.

When I last left you fine people, I was finishing my stoner stories in high school. Unfortunately for high school aged me, that would be the extent of my high school smoking. College however, was just around the corner and I was determined to keep up the stoner streak.

Like most citizens of the US, the college search was filled with moments of utter boredom and sheer anxiety. The feeling of failing in life and failing your future was ever present and something you learned to live with, even without the most holiest of herbs. However, and true to many events in my life, relief would come in the most sudden and anti-climactic fashion.



I had applied to schools across the country, shooting big for Ivy leagues that I would never be able to get into and local schools that were a little more realistic. I wasn’t a great high school student, I played sports, had many extracurriculars but was well aware of what I needed to do just to pass and get by. I managed to get an acceptable GPA by the time I was hunting for higher education and this would be my saving grace. Additionally, I was also a decent track athlete, I had competed in state competitions during my junior and senior year and had consistently made all conference in all of my events. Looking back on this time in my life, I am not surprised that I would be considered for a track scholarship, but it felt unrealistic and almost wrong at the time.



I did not want to become a college athlete, growing up in the northeast US I had no concept of the scale of college sports in the south. Being desperate however, I entertained the idea of a track scholarship and made an appointment to visit the university that had shown some interest. With my father in tow, I took the day off from school and made the relatively short trip to the university to discuss my eligibility for attending this school.



After meeting the acceptance administrator, we were quickly taken into the bowels of the admin building and seated in front of a computer within a small office space. Here, my academic qualifications would be scrutinized, my extracurriculars and sports record examined. I was asked why I wanted to attend school here and what I knew about the history of the area and school. Surprisingly, my answers were acceptable, and I was quickly informed that I would be accepted based on my academical qualifications alone. Being completely shocked, I accepted the offer on the spot and sighed a deep sigh of relief knowing that I had secured my academic future.



My consumption of the herb would not start again until a little later. I joined the ROTC program at my university and was an amazing cadet, I was chosen to go on special assignments ( that I cant talk about) and received specialized training ( that I cant talk about). I was a leader in the program and was really enjoying my experience until I suffered an injury playing intermural sports, resulting in surgery and months of rehabilitation.



It was at this moment that I was given a choice, my reputation and status within the ROTC program allowed me to stay on light duty without losing any of my plans or progress within the organization. I was not on scholarship however, which meant I was able to walk away without having to pay back any money for my education or training. Additionally, I was given the opportunity to study abroad as my parents were given international assignments in Prague.



I was a hurt 21-year-old who knew that my ability to do the job that I had been training for relied on my ability to be healthy. I would lose at least a semester if not more of increased specialized training and would be behind. This is a decision I still wrestle with today, but I feel like I made the right decision to drop out of the program to pursue further education abroad. As a result, I could smoke again and I made sure to do so with haste.



My roommate had been a long time pothead and smoked in our dorm room. The herb was never far from my nose and temptation was always present. The ROTC program was the only thing holding me back, and without that, it was game on. I quickly immersed myself in the stoner culture of my school, which was easy given that most of my friends smoked like chimneys. This would be another renaissance for me, my friends and I would fill our time hanging out, making music and discussing enlightened topics. Weed made the recovery much easier and took the place of the strong ( super addictive) pain killers that I was being prescribed, something that probably saved me more than I know. This cumulated in one of the greatest send offs my friends could organize, bud, music and the promise of progress as I left for the Czech Republic ( Czechia).



I know this post did not have a lot to do with smoking herb or stories, but it does come with more sage advice that I want to impart on this new generation of smokers. The holy herb does not define you, as said by Dave Chappell “ weed is a background substance”. It should not define your life and should not affect your prospects in life. A true stoner should be able to smoke like a chimney and in a moment, practice complete abstinence when the situation requires. Self-discipline regarding bud is so very important and will be an asset to you later in your stoner career. Self-discipline is the only thing dividing responsible pot heads from those who aren’t. Do not fault your friends who want to take T breaks and celebrate your ability to break from weed cold turkey when the need requires.



I am glad to be back on the forum after a few years and I am looking forward to telling you about the next chapter of my life in Czechia.