Why I Will Never Eat Another Weed Pill

bluegreenrock7 years ago

I’ve never been a huge fan of weed. I tend to be a guy who’s already too much in his head, so weed will often throw my thoughts into an unbearable overdrive and I end up sitting, catatonic, staring at the wall for several hours until I return to normal.

To give you an idea of my general anxiety, consider the following story. The first time I ever smoked was out of an apple (like a Certified Badass). I was at a park, and could have easily thrown the apple away once I was done. I was so afraid of leaving evidence behind, however, that I proceeded to eat the disgustingly ashy apple. It was like swallowing sawdust.

That being said, under ideal conditions there have been times when I’ve thoroughly enjoyed getting high. One year after finals, my friend and I ate brownies and then went on a four-hour video game rampage. I have never played such high quality matches of Super Smash Bros.. It’s like the controller was an extension of my body. I was one with Ness, and Kirby’s blubbery pink ass never stood a chance.

Excited by how much fun that was, I ate brownies the following quarter after my finals and then spent the next five hours face down on my friend’s couch afraid of slipping into the jaws of infinity.

I never really know which way my mind will go when I consume weed, so I don’t do it too often. If I’m with a few close friends and we’re eating pizza and watching a movie, I’m golden. I don’t have to speak, and I can let my mind go on a cinematographic ride. If one of my friends decides he wants us to go to a bar, though? Then I’m in trouble. My high conversations with a girl at a bar go something like this:

Girl: “Hi, how are you?”

My Mind: Okay. “How are you?” Simple enough question. Just go with “I’m good.”

Did she ask for your fucking life story?! Keep it brief. Oh god, how long have we been silent? Has it been seconds or minutes? For the love of God, say something to break the silence!

Me: “Thanks, and you?”

My Mind: You are a travesty of social interaction.

Have I given enough examples? Weed and I oftentimes do not mix well. So how is it that one night I ended up eating a fucking weed pill? Well, it was summer, and my friend’s family wanted me to dogsit. The dog was getting old and some dementia was setting in, so they asked if I could spend the night at their house to keep an eye on it. I like dogs and had no other plans, so I agreed. I started thinking about how I hadn’t smoked in a while, and how it could be fun to get high and watch movies all night. I asked my buddy if he had some weed, and he said all he had were weed pills. Weed pills? Like a cannabis Flintstone vitamin? I said, “Man, you know I don’t smoke much. These things aren’t gonna be super strong, right?” My lying friend responded, “No, just take one and you’ll be fine.”

I picked up one and headed over to hang with the geriatric canine. After tending to doge, I sat down on the couch to prepare for my movie fest and swallowed the pill.

An hour went by, and I felt nothing. An hour thirty — still nothing. Then the two-hour mark hit, and my world changed. I was watching Elf and could not stop intently focusing on every note of background music. I know it’s not news to anyone that movies have music, but in Elf every single action was accompanied by music in some form. If you remember the theme song, it’s happy people going, “Bum bum, bum bum bum, bum badum, bum bum bum.” If Will Ferrell so much as took a step in that movie, in the background you heard “bum, bum.” If he raised his arm “badum, bum.” If he lifted an eyebrow “bummm.” It was fucking bananas. I watched the entire movie without paying attention to the story once. All I did was listen to how the sound paired with every action.

Once the movie ended, I snapped out of my Elf world and looked over at the dog sitting in the corner. Huge mistake. The dog’s fur was pure white, and its eyes were deep, black, brooding, soulless eyes. If Satan had eyes, this is what they’d look like. I could not be in the same room as this dog.

I walked to a bedroom, crawling beneath the windows on the way because I was afraid to look directly at my own reflection, and flopped onto the bed.

Oh man. Why is my heart beating so fast? Am I dying? No, you’re not dying. You’re just too high.

I heard the click-clack of dog claws on a hard wood floor.

Oh God, Satan’s eyes are in the doorway. Just don’t look. You’re safe on the bed. Unless, of course, your heart stops.

I realized that I was not going to be able to sleep for a very long time, so I did the only thing that made sense to me in that moment: I watched Elf. I ended up watching Elf another three times that night until I was finally able to pass out on the couch.

Never again will I take a weed pill, and Will Ferrell will always hold a special place in my heart as my protector against the darkness..

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