Your Friendly Neighborhood Weed Dealer

What will become of your friendly neighborhood weed dealer once marijuana is legalized everywhere?


| July/August 2013


“Drugs sell themselves, biscuit. You ain’t shit.”
— Heylia James, Weeds 

Your Friendly Neighborhood Weed Dealer

I know a guy named Frank. Frank is pretty cool and even sort of a gentlemen. Frank likes to refer to himself as a “procurement specialist,” a bright enough guy in his mid-20s who saw a local opening for dealers with a slightly above-average degree of professionalism. He’s been in the game for a few years now, and he’s earned his many loyal customers through a natural love of weed and a willingness to move it from place to place. It’s also because it’s hard for him to offend most people, even though drugs and hookers are two of his favorite things to talk about.

It takes an amiable nature to sell weed successfully in a small college town. The gig is not hard to get, but dealing is a tricky career path that requires a rare combination of characteristics. Frank is decent, and somewhere at his core sensitive and generous, but don’t kid yourself; he will definitely kick some ass.

Frank doesn’t offer dime bags. He’s annoyed by the people who buy them as well as by the people who sell them. As he puts it, “trying to count out singles and quarters is extra pressure that a professional just doesn’t need.” He’s also only recently come around to trusting black people again, after that guy he hired jacked eight ounces from him a couple of years ago. But he’ll sell an eighth to anyone with $50, no matter what age or color they are. Once a potential customer has been declared “solid” by a reputable reference and once they show him their cash, Frank will gladly hook them up: Cash is king, whether he likes you personally or not.

Like many professional smokers, Frank is a talker. For instance, he hates the metric system: “I always need to get out my phone, and oh man, have you seen this app that does conversions for you?” He’s very proud of his ability to eyeball a quarter-ounce, though, he says, “I’ll pull out my scale if somebody asks, but people don’t have to ask.” He likes to talk about the weird new sativa blends flooding the state market lately, and how he might need a new local hookup because all the in-town guys are complaining about a bunch of excess manure getting into their product. Frank has an attention to detail that you just don’t see very often, in any profession. Sometimes, in his haze, he’ll insist to me, “Dude, have you ever really listened to The Band? Garth Hudson never gets the credit he deserves, and dude can blow … ” Otherwise, he might just jaw on about this crazy movie he stumbled onto last night on Netflix, about—well, it doesn’t matter, since neither of us is going to remember the conversation anyway. It might have been Red State.

Conversation gets dealer and customer comfortable with one another, even if Frank sneaks in the occasional come-on here or there. It’s always fine, though, because he genuinely seems like a harmless if slightly crude guy who goes out of his way to be nice but who would never really hurt anyone. And then, one day, Frank showed me the small arsenal of weapons that he keeps in his unusually nice apartment, in the event that the black guy he fired ever comes back to jack him again. There are a couple of large hunting knives in his desk drawer, a 9mm handgun in the nightstand, and a double-barreled shotgun that lives behind the bedroom door. He casually mentions that there’s more firepower in the closet. Frank has only been robbed the one time, but it made him a more cautious man, one who recognizes the nature of the industry where he makes his living.

robdashu
6/28/2013 7:22:49 PM

I think the man has job security. There are folks who like the best, which regulated marijuana will definitely not be. Connoisseurs will still need the fine stuff, and the black market will continue to supply it. Having legal pot around will make it harder to 'smoke out' the black market dealers. No worries...







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