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Omelet, your drive-by wasn't very nice
Drug Experiences (Legal and Illegal)
- Thread starter KittiesKorner
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I was lucky enough only to work in the restaurant industry for one summer. The whole staff at my restaurant were into smoking coco puffs and primos on smoke breaks. One waiter smoked one too many I guess and went off on the patriarch of a customer family while I was busing a table nearby. He told the dude to **** his own dick or something and then poured the chips and salsa they ordered on the guys head and walked out...forever. Good times.
I really hated working in a restaurant.
I really hated working in a restaurant.
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R_Mac_1
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In high school I worked at Burger King with a few friends and we used to smoke pretty much every day while working as well. Nothing crazy, though. Just weed. We would take turns taking garbage bags out back and taking hits by the dumpsters. First one out would load the bowl and leave it out there for the next guy. We even got brave enough to do it inside and blow the smoke up the hoods.
Good times.
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nice. I spent a "gap" year off college playing music, working at a restaurant, and delivering pizza, and was pretty much stoned the entire year. By the end, the weed was making me paranoid so I haven't really indulged much since. I guess everything makes me paranoid, lol. Although I wish I liked weed instead of alcohol. Still like hash though; it's mellower for me
R_Mac_1
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I delivered for Papa John's in college for a couple years. We would get high with the manager in the cooler on late nights as well. Dude was cool.
That job was awesome. Work 20 or so hours a week making ~15 bucks an hour, most of which was untaxed cash in hand every night. Driving around listening to music and smoking occasionally.
Ahh the good old days.
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That job was awesome. Work 20 or so hours a week making ~15 bucks an hour, most of which was untaxed cash in hand every night. Driving around listening to music and smoking occasionally.
Ahh the good old days.
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when I got off work at the restaurant I would give a ride to work to a guy who also worked at the pizza delivery place on my way to that job. He also happened to sell weed so we'd be baked by the time we got there. I never thought to ask why he had a job delivering pizzas but didn't have his own car. He always used the "company truck", lol
malcore
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'shrooms
A buddy of mine used to grow them. He was the type of guy who went all out with an interest or project. He had to master everything he did, and he came close.
So anyway, his 'shrooms were whack as ****.
It's a Tuesday morning and his first batch is ready to harvest. I'm offered and I immediately accept. This is Tuesday morning after all, right? So, we masticate. Not long after we had all come to agreement upon the palatability of our meal, maybe 45 seconds or so, I'm overcome by feelings of regret. I'm thinking to myself,"Why the **** did I just do this? I don't want to be on 'shrooms. I can't miss class. It's Tuesday morning! I'm an idiot. Stupid, stupid, ******." These are very inappropriate thoughts to be having at this point.
I decide I can will myself out of this, and am determined to go to class. This is high school, Tuesday morning, so class then meant Machine Shop. Making an aluminum gavel on a rudimentary lathe. This is a very inappropriate thing to be doing at this point.
The gavel will not be finished this Tuesday. I'm just watching the lathe and comparing it to the whirlpool of my teenage life and really, you know, figuring things out. Mr. Benke is as oblivious to my condition as he is to the stain on his shirt, worn for the fourth time this month. The stain is not fading, but becoming deeper and more defined. It's comforting, actually. I'm feeling safe and in control.
At this point the PA system from the school office buzzes down. They ask Mr. Benke if I am in class today. I am refusing to be high, and by extension I refuse to be alarmed. The lathe is spinning. Mr. Benke then looks at me, his shirt stain looking away (betrayal!), and I swear, with a grin, he says in this annoying Jimmy Fallon/Tina Fey-I-think-I'm-really-fucking-funny way, "um, somatically, yes, Mr. ______ is present." I'm now having thoughts of completed gavel and Benke forehead. The lathe spins. The office informs us that there is a phone call for me. I'm thinking to myself, "A phone call. A phone call? A phone call! A phone call? A phone call", changing the emphasis over and over as I begin my walk to the office. Needles to say, this is an inappropriate place to be going at this point.
Maureen Battaglia. She is the office secretary. She is a red head. She is Italian. She has legs. Incredible, long, muscle-and-bone-all-in-perfect-harmony-and-proportion legs. They are crossed, under her desk. Gavel completed. Mr. Estes, the Vice Principal is in the main office also. He lives a few houses down from our family house. He is bald. He needs something from Maureen. Maureen hands me the phone.
"Hello?", I say, no longer interested in whom it may be as Maureen sits again and crosses her legs.
I think I hear giggles from the other end of the phone.
"Hello?" I say again, interest slightly piqued.
"How does it feel to be in the office on these fucking 'shrooms man?" says my buddy Dave, barely containing himself, followed by uncontrolled laughter in the background.
A buddy of mine used to grow them. He was the type of guy who went all out with an interest or project. He had to master everything he did, and he came close.
So anyway, his 'shrooms were whack as ****.
It's a Tuesday morning and his first batch is ready to harvest. I'm offered and I immediately accept. This is Tuesday morning after all, right? So, we masticate. Not long after we had all come to agreement upon the palatability of our meal, maybe 45 seconds or so, I'm overcome by feelings of regret. I'm thinking to myself,"Why the **** did I just do this? I don't want to be on 'shrooms. I can't miss class. It's Tuesday morning! I'm an idiot. Stupid, stupid, ******." These are very inappropriate thoughts to be having at this point.
I decide I can will myself out of this, and am determined to go to class. This is high school, Tuesday morning, so class then meant Machine Shop. Making an aluminum gavel on a rudimentary lathe. This is a very inappropriate thing to be doing at this point.
The gavel will not be finished this Tuesday. I'm just watching the lathe and comparing it to the whirlpool of my teenage life and really, you know, figuring things out. Mr. Benke is as oblivious to my condition as he is to the stain on his shirt, worn for the fourth time this month. The stain is not fading, but becoming deeper and more defined. It's comforting, actually. I'm feeling safe and in control.
At this point the PA system from the school office buzzes down. They ask Mr. Benke if I am in class today. I am refusing to be high, and by extension I refuse to be alarmed. The lathe is spinning. Mr. Benke then looks at me, his shirt stain looking away (betrayal!), and I swear, with a grin, he says in this annoying Jimmy Fallon/Tina Fey-I-think-I'm-really-fucking-funny way, "um, somatically, yes, Mr. ______ is present." I'm now having thoughts of completed gavel and Benke forehead. The lathe spins. The office informs us that there is a phone call for me. I'm thinking to myself, "A phone call. A phone call? A phone call! A phone call? A phone call", changing the emphasis over and over as I begin my walk to the office. Needles to say, this is an inappropriate place to be going at this point.
Maureen Battaglia. She is the office secretary. She is a red head. She is Italian. She has legs. Incredible, long, muscle-and-bone-all-in-perfect-harmony-and-proportion legs. They are crossed, under her desk. Gavel completed. Mr. Estes, the Vice Principal is in the main office also. He lives a few houses down from our family house. He is bald. He needs something from Maureen. Maureen hands me the phone.
"Hello?", I say, no longer interested in whom it may be as Maureen sits again and crosses her legs.
I think I hear giggles from the other end of the phone.
"Hello?" I say again, interest slightly piqued.
"How does it feel to be in the office on these fucking 'shrooms man?" says my buddy Dave, barely containing himself, followed by uncontrolled laughter in the background.
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I have never used illegal drugs of any kind
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well done, malcore. Omelet, I know you occasionally get dusted
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Hardly
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you mean this wasn't you?
[video=youtube;Iw15hUj3OXM]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iw15hUj3OXM[/video]
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hey, only drug I'm on any more is love, and the occasional ibuprofen.
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I don't get it
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Ive always been a believer that you do drugs. Never let drugs do you. I find no problem going out one night with your people and dabbling in some narcotics but the fun kind. I have a problem when you do it on a Tuesday because you are bored. I also have problems if you do it and you are responsible for another life like your kids.
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So you're admitting to everyone you're a total square?
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If square means having control of my life and the power of my convictions then I guess I'm square. If it means not being a sheep in the drug culture then I guess I'm square.
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You're a square.
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And you are hip? LOL
