Medical marijuana dispensaries in California must not have gotten the memo that what they’re doing is now legal. I attempted to visit one in LA and the experience came off just like I was meeting a street dealer.
I searched for a dispensary to get the story on just what a legal weed shop atmosphere is like. I’m not a smoker, but I’ve certainly been around it and transactions to purchase it enough to be intrigued by the possibility of buying it above board. No looking over your shoulder for cops or meeting on a street corner and passing a baggie off while pretending to give dap. But…it actually isn’t that different.
So, I’m rolling down Santa Monica Blvd and I see a large Hemp plant symbol lit up by fluorescent lighting in the window of a little strip mall store. I b-lined over to the parking lot and made my way to the door. Before I approached, though, I got caught up in a cloud of black p*ssy. Your mind went straight to the gutter, right? But, if you’re black and from the hood, you’ve gotta remember the incense scent that goes by that name. A little lady was sitting on the street by the door burning a stick of that particular fragrance and trying to sell me a bundle.
“I’m good,” I said, “but you took me way back with that one.” It was like when my buddies were lighting incense in our dorm room to cover up the smell of burning through a dime bag.
I then walked inside the shop. I found myself in a dimly light holding area, in front of a big window that was tinted to the point of not revealing what was behind it. I immediately knew I was amongst “trees,” because the smell almost knocked me off my feet. There was a small opening at the bottom of the window. It looked like that slot in the bullet-proof glass you slide the money through when you go into a gas station in the ‘hood.
A rough, almost intimidating voice growled out of the small opening, “What you need?”
I explained that I’m the managing editor of a publication and I’d like to get some information on their business for an upcoming issue. I didn’t get an immediate response.
A man that had entered behind me approached and knocked on the glass, a door opened on the side and a brown bag was handed out without the vendor revealing his face and there was no dialogue. He then, still concealed, yelled out to me, “The manager ain’t here.”
“What is the manager’s name and when should I return?” I asked.
“Man, you gotta see T.T. and I don’t know when he’s back,” he answered before explaining that T.T. didn’t have business cards…
I took a couple of shots and jetted.
Old habits die hard, I guess. If selling weed is now legal for “medicinal” purposes, they’ve gotta tighten up that atmosphere. No wonder so many of them get raided and shut down. –gerald radford
