The Brownie Story
I got up from the fold out bed, knelt over in the downward dog position. I patted my ass, and turned to my friends and muttered, "I think I just shitted my pants."
The following is an unfortunately true story of the time; I got so high from edibles, I thought I had shitted my pants. It's filled with adventure, suspense, hilarity and occasional pontification.
Let me give you some back story. It was late 2011, end of November. I was working retail in San Francisco. It was my first year living away from my parents, who lived hundreds of miles away in Reno, Nevada.
Retail is a horrible job, and should only be a catapult to something better. I was working at adidas, and I loved everything about the brand; the store, not so much. I was working about 20 hours a week, and about 75% of my check went to my 80sqft room in an in-law located in the outer sunset district. The job was all I had.
It was a week before Thanksgiving, and one of the Team Leads came to a few of us and was talking about the new goals and responsibilities expected of us. Failure to meet the new criteria meant termination. Me being quite the smart ass, always having a final word; going back to when I was a child talking back to my dad while he took a belt to my ass. I quickly replied with a sports analogy I'm entirely proud of. I told the Team Lead that the store's staff is like the San Francisco 49ers. I said, "I see us as the 49ers. Last season  we had the same players, but a different coach and had a horrible season. This year , again, same players, but a new coach, and have one of the best records in the league."
He wasn't too happy with that. The following week, the day after Black Friday, I get called up to the office by the Store Manager. He asks if there was anything I wanted to discuss. I didn't have anything to say. He probed some more, and I admitted to not caring for the strict expectations with the consequence being termination.
He said that came from corporate so there's nothing he could do about it. He probed some more. I again didn't have anything to say. He then came with, "Anything about football?"
A smile lit up my face, still proud of the analogy.
"Oh, yeah!" I said with glee.
"Do you want to tell me what that's about?" He asked.
I ended up reiterating what I told the other Team Lead, and clarified with, "I see it was the coaches taught the same players new ways to achieve their untapped potential, and that our team leads should show us new ways to make our goals." I didn't see it fair that we at the bottom were the scapegoats for bad sales numbers. The leaders are supposed to lead, if goals are missed, they should take the responsibility.
He didn't like any of that. He followed up with, "I see that as you want me to fire my leads. These guys have families to take care."
"I pay $550 for a closet room." I wanted to say that but kept it to myself.
"I'm going to send you home for the weekend. Give me a call when you're ready to come back to work." He demanded.
I was in shock. Not knowing how to handle the situation, I started to tear up. I left the office with a salty water substance coming down my face. Embarrassed to be seen by my friends, I rushed out of the store after grabbing my stuff.
Not knowing where to go, I called my friend, Christian, who also moved from Reno. He was just then getting off work, and we ended up meeting each other and went to his apartment in the Tenderloin. Once we got in, he had a phone call. Before answering his phone, he told me there were coconut hazelnut brownies in the kitchen. With no delay, I grabbed the Ziploc bag filled with the brownies.
I broke off a chunk of brownie from the bag. It was the size of a fifty-cent piece. I tossed it in my mouth and thought it was a damn good brownie. It was so good I had another three pieces, all about the same size as the first one. Christian gets off the phone and says, Andy, our mutual friend from Reno is here. Andy walks into the apartment and sees me eating brownies. Christian tells us that he made them... with weed.
I had no idea that they were laced with marijuana. They didn't have an aftertaste or anything. Both Andy, and Christian started laughing at me for not knowing that the brownies were edibles. We then headed out to Andy's car. As soon as we left the lobby of the building the weed had hit me. My vision became blurry, and my head became dizzy. We got into Andy's white Toyota Carolla and headed to the Sunset.
On the car ride, they were in the front seats talking about buying more drugs, harder drugs than weed. The sun had set. It was completely dark outside. We parked the car, and Christian went out to do the exchange. I got out of the car. Not wanting any part of the drug deal I went towards the shops and eateries nearby on 9th street. I also had to go pee. I found a taqueria and asked if I could use their restroom. I went pee, washed my hands and looked in the mirror. I was pale and sweaty. I looked like shit and felt like shit. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket. It had 5% battery.
I left the taqueria, searching for Andy and Christian. They called my phone and were telling me where they were. I ended up seeing them across the street. I started crossing the street then heard a loud ring. It was the Muni N Train. I jumped backward avoiding getting ran over by the damn thing. I then made my way to my friends, and we went to find food.
We walked to another taqueria. There were two customers before us. On the left of us sat three guys. They noticed Andy and Christian's attire and decided to comment.
[The following actions are highly debated. I swear this happened, but both Christian and Andy deny this exchange had ever taken place.]
Christian and Andy were both wearing black hoodies. Looking strikingly similar. The guys on the left of us started heckling them.
"Awe, that's so cute. They're matching." One said.
"Two boyfriends matching." replied another, making kissing sounds.
Internally I was thinking this is going to be bad. Christian practices Brazilian Ju-Jitsu, and Andy is a big guy who could probably protect his own. I tried my best to avoid any eye contact. I decided to move away and head to the back of the restaurant. I accidentally brushed one of the guys and mumbled an apology.
I made it to the back and pulled out my phone. I saw three phones due to my blurry vision. I noticed I only had 1% battery left. I tried calling a taxi to come pick up; I just wanted to go home. Andy comes over to calm me down. He walks me back to Christian, and the three guys that were insulting them were now gone. I told the lady my order for a burrito. I didn't realize the customers in front of us were still ordering. I made an ass out of myself, and Andy had to apologize to everyone involved for me.
Our food finally came, and we started to walk back to the car. I was still paranoid about the three guys from the taqueria. I thought they'd find us then start to beat us up. I also thought that maybe the cops would come, then we all would go to jail, especially since my friends now have newly acquired drugs. As we were walking, Christian and Andy started making owl noises and kicking rocks.
My inner-self thought that maybe, just maybe, the guys in the taqueria were the guys who sold the drugs to Christian. That while they were doing the drug deal, Christian had told them that I was having a bad trip, and planned for them all to fuck with me. So when they would, whistle, that would trigger the guys to come out and scare me. I saw a white Toyota and ran towards it. I went to the back door and tried opening it.
"Wrong car!" Andy shouted.
They were a few cars away getting into the Carola. Once we got in the car, I told them I just wanted to go home. I gave them my address.
"Yo, can you slow it down. I'm trying to find directions to your house." Christian responded.
I was attempting to tell them my address again, but midway stopped myself.
"No! No cell phones. No cell phones, you are going to text those guys my address, and once you drop me off, they'll be there ready to rob me."
"What the fuck are you even talking about?" Andy interrupted.
"Dude, let's just take him back to my place; we shouldn't leave him alone, he might die," Christian interjected.
We went back to Christian's apartment. They sat on the sofa closest to the window; I sat on the other couch in the middle of the studio apartment, which also folded out into a bed. I unwrapped the tinfoil from my burrito, took one bite, then immediately toppled over. Christian told me just to open the bed and lay down. I obliged.
I laid down and thought some sleep would be the best course of action.
Now, my two friends are of Mexican decent but have no stereotypical accent. They sound like anyone else born in America, but as soon as I closed my eyes, I started hearing different accents. It sounded like Cheech Marin was in the room. I also heard other strange voices, like surfer bro talk. I thought others were in the room, but when I'd opened my eyes it was just Andy and Christian, rolling up weed and chowing down food.
A few hours later, they started to fuck with me.
"Hey, I bet he probably can't feel his feet right now." Andy acknowledged.
I tried to move my feet to see if I had any feeling down there. I did not.
"Ha, he probably thinks he's floating right now," chimed Christian.
At that moment, I couldn't feel the floor underneath me. I felt as if I was suspended in the middle of the room, floating above the furniture.
Christian then pulled out a cheap camcorder and started video taping me. He was acting as if this was a nature documentary, and thought it was a perfect oppurtunity to test out his Steve Irwin impersenation. He made it seem like I was a wild animal, or in this case, a sedated sack of shit.
Soon after taping the Discovery Channel pilot, they started to sniff.
"Yo, do you smell that?"
"Yeah, what is that?"
I too took a sniff and smelt an unpleasant stench. I tried using my nerve endings to see if I may have pooped my pants. It had felt a bit moist down there. I got up from the fold out bed, knelt over in the downward dog position. I pulled down my pants, leaving only my underwear exposed.
"Yo, what the fuck are you doing?" One of them yelled.
I patted my ass, and turned to both of them and muttered, "I think I just shitted my pants."
After a good pat down, I was relieved that I didn't poop my pants. I pulled my jeans back up, then immediately passed out.
The next morning I had a massive hangover. Disheveled, distraught and disoriented, I was unsure if the events from the night before even happened. Once I got home after taking the bus back, I took a Tylenol and vowed never to take drugs again. But that was not the last time I had weed, that story will be for another time.