Answer: Not for a high teenager there isn’t. I suppose that’s why no one ever forgets their first weed experience. But for all the rest of us, pretty much every combination of any other two things in the world is better than youth + marijuana. Teenagers totally can’t handle their weed.
The best part about teen marijuana use are those awesome fucking anti-marijuana ad campaigns it comes with. They are the only commercials on Comedy Central that make me laugh harder than the shows. What’s more is I can rest easy knowing they’re completely ineffective at decreasing marijuana use among teens, so they’ll never stop producing new ones!
But I digress.
So, my first experience with weed was pretty fun, although I should note I had tried marijuana before this, this was the first time I knew I was high. And there are psychological studies that support the theory that some people don’t get high the first few times they experiment with weed. I think.
So I should probably just stop wasting my time writing this introduction and present the fucking post.
The names have been changed to protect the guilty. By the way.
First Weed Experience
It all started when I got to my friend Matt’s house. We were sixteen at the time and just got our licenses. Matt and I have been best friends since we were super young, and recently each found out that the other tried marijuana a couple times. I get up to his room and right when I walk in he asks:
Heyy man, do you wanna smoke some weed tonight?
To which I responded affirmatively.
His plan was to head over to his sister’s apartment, where she would smoke us up before selling us some. We decided to wait for our Asian friend, Scott, to come over and left in his car when he arrived.
You heard right. We got in a car an Asian was driving.
We get to her house, and we smoke out of a bubbler. Definitely by far the most chronic weed I had ever smoked by this point in my life. So it goes without saying that as we were leaving, I was the highest I had ever been.
So as we walk out the door, tripping over ourselves, we make it to the car. I’m in the back seat behind Matt, who’s riding shotgun. As Scott begins to back out of the parking space, I begin to perceive us as moving about 45 mph. This frightened me enough to yell:
“SCOTT, SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!”
At which point Matt and Scott’s responses were something along the lines of “wtf, man?”
…Which was when I realized he was backing out at about 0.5 mph. I felt stupid.
By the time we get on the road, I’m repressing the urge to yell at Scott every second we continue, as by this point we really are traveling at about 45 mph and it feels like about 450 mph. Plus Scott is Asian.
I found that putting my head in my lap, in a fetal position of sorts, worked the best to calm me.
It doesn’t take long before the munchies strike, and so we decide to stop at the Sonic up ahead. We pull up and go to the drive thru, at which point they ask us for our order.
Scott: “Yeah I’ll have uhhh…”
Matt: “CAN I HAVE YOUR TOTS?!?!”
Sonic Worker: Excuse me sir?
Scott: “(Matt shut UP!) Umm, yeah sorry about tha…”
Matt: “THE TOTS!!! CAN I HAVE THE TATER TOTS?!?!”
Me: Dude! Quit it with the TOTS!!!
Scott: (Uncontrollable laughter)
Matt: “CAN I…(giggle)… CAN I HAVE A BIG CUP OF AIDS?!?!”
Sonic Worker: Sir I don’t find that very funny.
Me: Dude! She doesn’t find that very funny, man! Shut up!
Sonic Manager: “Stop harassing my employees and get off this property before I call the cops!”
Me: Shit dude! SCOTT, DRIVE!
Scott floors it and initially heads straight for the exit, as it’s right in front of you when you drive from the drive-thru. But, being Asian, naturally he somehow managed to be confused by the exit situation and ends up accidentally doing a quick lap around Sonic before exiting, as the Sonic workers watched on perplexed.
Once Scott’s Asian ass manages to find his way to the road, we end up at a stoplight. We were in the far right lane of three lanes. I looked ahead and noticed that our lane ends between the light we’re at now and the next one. But at the time there was construction on the road, so they had a diagonal line of orange traffic barrels across the lane to indicate to drivers to merge left.
By this point, I had been freaking out often during the drive over little things, so I didn’t want to mention to Scott that the lane ends up ahead out of fear that he would accuse me of backseat driving. I put my head back between my legs in fetal position, figuring he’d be able to merge effectively.
After the light turns green and we start moving again, I become lost in a thought with my head in my lap. So about 8-10 seconds after the light, I decide to look up.
What I see is Matt in the passenger seat doing the robot to a song that was playing, and Scott in the drivers seat looking directly to the right at Matt’s robot dance, cracking up. The other thing I saw was a traffic barrel about 15 feet in front of us.
15 feet in front of us at the exact moment I looked up; we were traveling about 40-45 mph, so by the time I managed to scream “SCOTT!!! MERGE!!!” it was about 7 feet in front of us. I imagine by the time Scott applied the breaks it was about 1 foot in front of us. It was raining, by the way.
So we slam into the traffic barrel, hit it into another traffic barrel which then got knocked out into the middle of the lane we were supposed to merge into, directly in front of another car, which struck it into the middle of the intersection ahead.
At this point I’m yelling at Scott to get the fuck out of the area. Which we do. We manage to make it to a McDonald’s where we got some much needed food.
By the time we got back on the road Scott was done eating and ready for the next step of our vehicular trip; interstate driving.
Granted, the stretch of i95 he had to traverse was about three miles long, it was an intimidating prospect nonetheless.
Immediately upon entering the on-ramp, Scott finds a way to time his merge so that we come up right next to a large bus. Under the influence of marijuana, and Asian genetics, he struggles to figure out exactly what to do as the end of the merging lane approaches, clearly having trouble deciding whether to speed up and merge in front of it or slow down and merge behind it.
He decided on the more dangerous one about .0001 seconds before it was too late and ends up nearly rear-ending a Volkswagen Beetle that was in front of the bus.
Matt and I freaking out at this point, instruct Scott to get behind the bus and just follow it until we got off i95.
As he pulls over to the middle lane to slow down and let the bus get in front of us, I notice that the car in front of us was not a Beetle at all, but rather some other new style of Volkswagen that looks just like a Beetle from behind, but more like a sports car from the front.
This troubled me thoroughly. I was not aware Volkswagen had a model such as that by this point in my life. I did not like the evil Beetle transformer impostor.
By the time we got in front of the bus, we were calming down a little.
Until all of a sudden, the charter bus we decided was so safe to get behind of starts acting erratically. All of a sudden it would just be driving straight in the right lane. Then it would swerve quickly to halfway over the middle lane. Then back. Then all the way to the middle lane. Then back. Then a little swerve the the left and back. This went on till we exited.
What’s worse is every time this bus swerved, it would reveal to my eyes the evil impostor Volkswagen.
Stuff like this never happens when you’re sober.
Finally we get off the exit and make our way back to Matt’s neighborhood. Once there, in an apparent last ditch effort to give us further reason to make fun of his driving, Scott stops the car in the middle of the road. No intersection or anything. Matt and I, perplexed as to why he stopped, look over at Scott, who was staring in awe at a mini stop sign that’s meant for the bike path parallel to the road and says,
Dude, that’s the smallest fuckin’ stop sign I’ve ever seen in my life.
We went back to Matt’s house and have been potheads ever since.