I’m spending the summer in a state where marijuana is legal for recreational use. I remember, decades ago, strolling down Venice Beach in California past an early medical marijuana “dispensary.” Reasons listed on one of those A-frame restaurant placards were: headaches, anxiety, pains in just about any location, disappointing days on the waves, or living near a serial killer (then, a more uniquely Californian experience.)
Now that I’ve tried numerous things to alleviate my knee pain, it was recommended that I rub the new breed of CBD/THC essential oil on my joints. Funny use of the word joint, right?
Call me a skeptic, but I’ve long insisted that CBD is just modern snake oil. I tried it several years ago in a moment of desperation, aware that my mind could convince me that the treatment was helping. It was not. But things have changed.
Back in the days of Acapulco Gold, my friends paid $200 for a “nickel bag” of buds, weak by modern standards, from a guy who mysteriously showed up at parties in Wicker Park. His name was Ray. He wore one of those paper-cut-sized little Bandaids on one of his nostrils, the left one if I remember correctly. It was always there. No one knew why. Or cared.
“Is Ray coming tonight?” they’d ask.
No one knew where he lived, and in the days before cell phones, burner or otherwise, he couldn’t be reached. He just showed up. It was all very shady.
But again, things have changed. I recently visited a marijuana (weed, pot, dope, grass) dispensary called NuEra. It is certainly a new era!
The windows of the dispensary are translucent to the point of being opaque, shielded from prying eyes by gray plastic sheeting. Given that recreational use is now legal in Illinois, why all the covert tactics? Secrecy lends a naughty ambiance to the otherwise clinical setting.
Step in the door at NuEra and the overpowering scent of a skunk in full-release unapologetically hits you in the face. Are the people behind the counter smoking on the job? Or vaping. Or rubbing oils and lotions on their joints? They seemed sober enough.
They carefully checked our IDs. From Florida. Hmm, would that be a problem? Nope. But we arrived without state-issued medical cards. Reminiscent of Venice Beach, but much more official.
“Ok, you’re all set. Go through the door to the showroom and talk to one of our Bud Tenders.”
If I had been drinking coffee, I would have done a spit take. Bud Tenders? Has someone developed a sitcom about this yet? They must have. (Google search – oh yes they have!)
We passed by a young woman seated in the corner of the inhalation chamber I’m not sure what else to call it, but the room felt and smelled kind of like the bowl on a water pipe (bong, hookah.) We didn’t understand her role, but she held an iPad and appeared to be interacting with it as we passed by.
“Oh, you’re my Florida crew,” said our Bud Tender. I don’t recall her introducing herself or wearing a name tag, but she was very knowledgeable.
The catalog of products was lengthy and detailed. Remember, I was just hoping to get more, possibly stronger, oil or lotion for my knees, so we never discussed plants, flowers, seeds, or stems in any particular strength or quantity. But behind the counter was a waist-high window to an area that looked exactly like what you see at a pharmacy, complete with labeled plastic bins. It was quite impressive.
I wondered about the supply chain, regulatory protocols, and quantification of dosing that supports this kind of business. I guess liquor stores stock suitably identified liquids, but they've had a hundred years since prohibition to refine their catalogs. The good news is, I've never met an angry stoner. The problems caused by alcohol in our society are well-known and truly tragic. This really is a new era in many ways.
And the place was doing business like Starbucks during the morning rush.
When I purchased the recommended lotion, I discovered that one thing hadn’t changed. Prices are in line with Ray’s, with one difference.
Illinois (or any state where this is legal) is making out like a bandit. The various taxes paid by individuals like myself who don’t have a medical-use card range from 25% to 41%! Other than casinos, our economy-of-addiction is raking in revenue like Vinnie the loan shark in the alley out back.
The product works and certainly beats needles in my knees or surgery, for now. I guess the bottom line is that I need to find a doctor who will agree to fill out the Florida-required form required to get a medical-use card when I return to that anything-goes state. Anything, that is, unless you’re gay, Democratic, a history buff, or a Disney fan.
Oh, and a certain doctor who tried to kill me not long ago? He owes me one!
😎
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