Tuesday, October 1, 2013

someone is having reefer madness on the balcony directly below my window

I have a headache. I've learned that, for me personally, anyway, second-hand marijuana smoke is not an effective headache remedy. It's sad because the weather is perfect for leaving an upstairs window open at least a crack, but that's not an option tonight. Where is the senior resident who is on duty and for what does he or she think he or she is being paid? To kick back in the easy chair behind the counter and watch movies? Apparently. I'm not risking ratting anyone out for smoking pot or anything else just yet, as I don't wish to become known as the village snitch when I still have the better part of an academic year to spend here. Why can't these idiots just drink like everyone else around here does?

My head is absolutely killing me, and I don't have anything I can actually take for it. Aspirin and ibuprofen eat holes through the lining of my intestines, and acetaminophen is less effective a warding off headaches than Skittles or Reese's pieces would be for me. I was trying to tough it out because my parents are out of town tonight, but I've already tossed cookies three times. I'm deciding whether to call Uncle Scott, Uncle Jerry, Uncle Michael, or Chairman Mao. I can drive myself to their homes, and none of them would have gone to bed yet. it's just a matter of who is likely to have good drugs on hand. Either Uncle Michael, because he gets migraines, or Chaiman Mao, because his wife gets migraines.

I'm tossing a coin in the air. Heads, I call Uncle Michael. Tails, I call Chairman Mao. It's tails. I have Chairman Mao on speed dial.

Chairman Mao told me to stay here and he'll come, because after waiting so long before treating the headache, I need an injection if I want anything effective, and I won't be able to drive afterward. I could ask one of my neighbors to drive with me and transport me home, but it seems unwise at this point to give the freshmen around me the idea that they should drive my car. I know nothing of any of their driving habits, and not much more about their drinking habits.

{Twenty-one Minutes Later] Chairman Mao has come and gone. He has an emergency sticker and can park right by the dorm. I suppose they keep him on call in case someone gets stressed out right before finals and has to be talked off a balcony railing. He smelled marijuana and called security, so the party one floor below and to the left of my window is coming to an end as I type.

No one will be detained. The guys may be potheads, but they're not complete morons, and security did its usual "call upon the services of a town crier" before they show up to take any action. The guys had plenty of time to take their laughing grass elsewhere. I hope security doesn't bug me with questions, as I'm finally starting to feel drowsy.

Next year the guys who were on the balcony will be somewhere like the OK Chalet off campus. Unless they roll their weed and light it up while they're talking to the county sheriff's deputies, the deputies usually have bigger fish to fry than catching a few amateur reefer connisseurs. The neighborhood has people selling heroin and using their laptops to make counterfeit bills. Apprehending users of Prince Albert in a Left-Handed Can is not a very high priority for the local law enforcement. I do wish the happy hempers would find a better place to smoke their goofy green shrubbery than almost directly below my window, as it does nothing to help my headhaches and possibly contributes to or causes them. There are roughly twenty-four balconies attached tothis dorm alone, not to mention the other seven dorms right here, and God only knows how many all over campus. the balcony they chose doesn't even have an ocean view, and the beach is only about 100 yards away, for that matter.

This blog has ended. Go now to love and serve the Lord and to smoke your funny cigarettes as far from me as possible.


  1. Are you sure you weren't standing there at the window with your nose pressed against the screen, inhaling as much of that potent air as your little lungs could get? Do we have a stoner on our hands now?

    Just kidding! Hope you're feeling better.



    P. S. You could have called me. I would have snuck away from the hospital and brought you medicine so good that it would have had the little marijuana hackers positively green with envy and practically drooling.

    1. I wish I had your relatives, Alexis...

      Your post reminds me of the first apartment complex Bill and I lived in back when we got married. We were broke, so it was not a nice place. I remember the constant smell of pot in the air, coupled with the flashing lights of the police cars who were constantly called to break up domestic disagreements. I do not miss communal living at all.

      Hope you feel better.

    2. Knotty, the relatives I like are really cool, but I have some duds in the fireworks package just like everyone else does.

      Pseudouncle is cool.

      My mom says she thinks it's good for couples to start out in a not tremndously wealthy situation. She thinks it brings them closer together if they struggle a bit to make ends meet, and that they're more likely to focus upon each other and their relationship if they don't have too many expensive toys to distract them. She said she and my dad have lived in some real dive apartments. She also says she's very happy not to be poor anymore, but hopes that if the nice house, expensive pianos and guitars, and whatever other valuables and wealth they've accrued were to disappear, she assumes we'd all be able to weather it.

      The headache is lingering, but not to the point that I'm winning the first prize in the cookie-tossing contest.

  2. I'm loving how you're ending your blogs lately, it is so funny! I hope your headache went away quickly.

  3. Thanks Amelia. I'm borrowing my preist's benedictatory ending of mass each week and adding my own twist. I don't think Father Brad would mind, though I didn't ask his permission of course, let he google the line and complain if any of the hits lead to me and he didn't like what her read. I don't need any more fodder for confession.