When we set out to do this issue, we understood that getting students to talk about marijuana use might be a little tough, due to the illegality of the substance. We vowed that unless a student that admitted to marijuana use insisted on being identified, we would grant them anonymity. The student who agreed to write this story smokes marijuana and does mushrooms on a regular basis. The student was not encouraged to indulge, but was asked to write about the experience. We feel that the resulting article gives an insight into an inter-esting nook of drug culture.
“Tastes like burnt popcorn,” I thought as I chewed the psilocybin mushrooms.
It was 5:41 p.m. when my associate, Dr. Four-Eyes, and I indulged in a couple illicit substances in the parking lot outside of Surf Fest. After taking our medicine we embarked into the unknown.
Behind the Clarkston Community Center there were tents and booths that were set up around a stage. (My first impression was ‘redneck yard sale’)
Many people had cameras and I had this paranoia that I was being watched.
How easy would it be to find out our true identities? We are the Facebook.
Dr. Four-Eyes asked me, “Do you think people here smoke weed?”
“Yes, without a doubt,” I said. Not just because there was a table full of “tobacco” accessories being sold at this so-called family affair, but mainly because of the music.
“Yeah, it’s the music alright. It’s so relaxing, but it’s a racy relaxing, it’s like I’m on a horse with a cool breeze in my hair,” concurred Dr. Four-Eyes
Forty-five minutes since inception and I suddenly noticed my associate’s arm tattoos glowing and moving.
There were two sets of psychedelic-style lights around the stage. One set faced the audience and the other set, faced the band.
“Do you think the band members are high?” I asked my colleague. Without hesitation he replied, “Yes.”
An hour later as we began to peak I inquired how my associate’s first time experience was progressing.
“Everything is lovely. Right now, my body is tingly and I’m looking at this music and I can see the music coming off the guitar. It’s like I see the sounds,” said Dr. Four-Eyes.
We detoured for a quick smoke and as I sat down in the driver’s seat my steering wheel began talking to me. It spoke in Portuguese so I couldn’t understand it.
We didn’t notice that there was a couple in a car a few spaces down from us until we had already sparked up the blunt and it looked like they were staring directly at us.
“They could be calling the police,” Dr. Four-Eyes hastily suggested and leapt out of the vehicle. I urged him to sit back down and a moment later the car drove away, oblivious to our existence.
“Take a deep breath,” I said.
“You see… when you’re on mushrooms. There’s no illusion that you’re the one who is tripping.”