All that glamour couldn't last, and it didn't. I was let go from the place a couple of weeks ago. It's a relief, what with the vermin and the lies. I miss the people and having a place to go, but I don't miss the crazy, manipulative owner. When he was shot by someone who showed up at his house many years ago, no one who knew him was saddened, nor were they surprised.
It was an adventure, and as unpleasant as it got, especially after I found out that the owner lied about the union and benefits, I'm really glad I got the opportunity to get a glimpse into the retail side of cannabis.
There were three people in the place who didn't get to be in the union, and, as an inventory person, I was one of them. Even though all the guy had to do was give me the title of processor and then I could be in the union.
Things were pretty catastrophic through July, especially as my hip and back pain got much worse because i was so stressed out that I wasn't going to have insurance through the union.
My supervisor, Ernest, quit a few weeks before i was let go. He texted his resignation with no notice. He was the institutional brain. He fixed the a/c, he did merchandising and stocking, he fixed the ATMs that were always breaking down. As inventory manager, he was supposed to take my reports and do something about the discrepancies, but he was so busy with everything else that he never looked at them. I did what i was supposed to do.
When they let me go, they said it was since Ernest wasn't there anymore, there was no one to read my reports. Until they hired a new inventory manager, they didn't need me. I cautioned them about letting the new system go, and they agreed. I also gave them a list of 15 things that I could do instead, and they said sorry, it's what [the owner] wants. He's breathtakingly cruel, just like someone else we all know.
I'm doing ok. I got a cortisone shot at the end of July, which is a mood lifter. So I am applying for jobs and trying to pass the CBEST math so I can substitute teach and make $205.00 a day.. The test is October 8. Fourth time's a charm. Excuse me, while i head to the local high school to get me an algebra tutor.
Wednesday, August 28, 2019
Friday, July 19, 2019
Four months
The shop is losing its allure. The work is incredibly boring, and I seem to be working in a vacuum. No one checks what I am doing. I count the tincture towers and edibles over and over. When I was hired, the owner told me I would be doing inventory and some training. He lied about this, and he lied about the union benefits he promised me when I was hired. So I have been freaking out about how sustainable this job is without benefits. I have a subsidized medical insurance policy, but I might end up making too much to be able to keep it. I feel screwed.
Friday, June 21, 2019
Ninety Days to a New Life
It's been 90 days since I started working at the dispensary. I got caught up in a groove of work and weekends. Suddenly, it's a month since I last wrote. I am now 60. Memorial Day, and Ann and Doug's fabulous party, has come and gone. Game of Thrones is absolutely over.
Work is like a television show. Counting is uninteresting, but the action that goes on around it makes it worth getting out of bed in the morning. This is a show so full of characters that it could run seasons. The employees all have stories, as do the patients. In many respects, it's a typical workplace, but then add the cannabis aspect to it, and it takes on a whole surreal, fuzzy quality.
It's a tradition at this dispensary to give employees a top shelf 1/8 of an ounce on their birthdays. For my birthday, I chose a nice hybrid called N'ice Cream. James the bud tender (not James the security guard) recommended it. I'm glad I asked him, because he showed me top shelf product that I didn't even know we had. It was even more top shelf than the top shelf I was aware of. Smoked a bit of a joint of it with Loretta and Bake on the night of my birthday. It's long gone, and my next birthday is far away, so it's now a fond memory.
On my 90th day, a couple of days ago, Ernest, my supervisor, who is probably 26, asked me my name. He said he had me mixed up with Pam, but I think he wasn't going to remember my name until he knew I was staying. He said as much after I had worked a couple of weeks. He also said that, from this moment forward, my life was going to change drastically. He told me to get rid of all the spread sheets I have been working on since I started and make new ones. I have a whole new counting route. And I am to touch every piece of merchandise to make sure every sku# is accounted for.
I panicked for a moment, feeling the anxiety rise in my chest. So I went to lunch and processed his news. By the time I returned from lunch, I was calm, because it's all just counting. Funny thing, I've felt like I've been in a rut. It comes at a good time. It's amazing that I can stress about this job if I let myself. So I am not going to let myself.
The owner is having new floors installed. They're dark wood laminate and they look really nice. But they don't make up for the vermin problem, which is still there. Baby rats have been found. The Health Department came by today. Probably not a coincidence. I think we are on their radar. For good reason. I still won't use the restroom, so I have to come home for lunch. Today, something happened to the employee bathrooms and no one could use them.
It makes me laugh that I am happy at this place, after working in some really gorgeous spots. The winery in Rutherford was a sparkling clean castle, surrounded by vines, flowers, and vegetables. This place is in a not so good part of town. The other day, I almost walked on the carcass of a dead bird in the parking lot.
I am content. My co-workers are fun. The work is stress-free. I like the routine. I have a place to go, and I get paid money. It is a scene. Today I had words with a customer who was berating Onyx.
Shake Lady comes in three or four times a week, and complains loudly about everything. She always asks if we have "shake" and she is always told that that there won't be any shake for another three months. Today she was loudly complaining in the line about how disorganized everything was. The phone rang and Onyx picked it up, which, I agree with her, he shouldn't have done, but that's what our boss wants.
The bitch pointed at me and said, "she should answer the phone. She's nothing but stock." I looked at her and asked her if she wanted to come to work with us, because she was so organized. She snapped back that she went to school and got a degree so she didn't have to work in a stressful place like this. Luckily, it ended with her leaving and me not saying anything more, except to apologize to Onyx, who apologized to me for her disrespect.
Work is like a television show. Counting is uninteresting, but the action that goes on around it makes it worth getting out of bed in the morning. This is a show so full of characters that it could run seasons. The employees all have stories, as do the patients. In many respects, it's a typical workplace, but then add the cannabis aspect to it, and it takes on a whole surreal, fuzzy quality.
It's a tradition at this dispensary to give employees a top shelf 1/8 of an ounce on their birthdays. For my birthday, I chose a nice hybrid called N'ice Cream. James the bud tender (not James the security guard) recommended it. I'm glad I asked him, because he showed me top shelf product that I didn't even know we had. It was even more top shelf than the top shelf I was aware of. Smoked a bit of a joint of it with Loretta and Bake on the night of my birthday. It's long gone, and my next birthday is far away, so it's now a fond memory.
On my 90th day, a couple of days ago, Ernest, my supervisor, who is probably 26, asked me my name. He said he had me mixed up with Pam, but I think he wasn't going to remember my name until he knew I was staying. He said as much after I had worked a couple of weeks. He also said that, from this moment forward, my life was going to change drastically. He told me to get rid of all the spread sheets I have been working on since I started and make new ones. I have a whole new counting route. And I am to touch every piece of merchandise to make sure every sku# is accounted for.
I panicked for a moment, feeling the anxiety rise in my chest. So I went to lunch and processed his news. By the time I returned from lunch, I was calm, because it's all just counting. Funny thing, I've felt like I've been in a rut. It comes at a good time. It's amazing that I can stress about this job if I let myself. So I am not going to let myself.
The owner is having new floors installed. They're dark wood laminate and they look really nice. But they don't make up for the vermin problem, which is still there. Baby rats have been found. The Health Department came by today. Probably not a coincidence. I think we are on their radar. For good reason. I still won't use the restroom, so I have to come home for lunch. Today, something happened to the employee bathrooms and no one could use them.
It makes me laugh that I am happy at this place, after working in some really gorgeous spots. The winery in Rutherford was a sparkling clean castle, surrounded by vines, flowers, and vegetables. This place is in a not so good part of town. The other day, I almost walked on the carcass of a dead bird in the parking lot.
I am content. My co-workers are fun. The work is stress-free. I like the routine. I have a place to go, and I get paid money. It is a scene. Today I had words with a customer who was berating Onyx.
Shake Lady comes in three or four times a week, and complains loudly about everything. She always asks if we have "shake" and she is always told that that there won't be any shake for another three months. Today she was loudly complaining in the line about how disorganized everything was. The phone rang and Onyx picked it up, which, I agree with her, he shouldn't have done, but that's what our boss wants.
The bitch pointed at me and said, "she should answer the phone. She's nothing but stock." I looked at her and asked her if she wanted to come to work with us, because she was so organized. She snapped back that she went to school and got a degree so she didn't have to work in a stressful place like this. Luckily, it ended with her leaving and me not saying anything more, except to apologize to Onyx, who apologized to me for her disrespect.
Saturday, May 18, 2019
Winter returns
Full moon, weird weather pattern over the past few days is making it feel like the middle of winter. I wore two sweat shirts at several points today because the a/c had been turned down to 63 degrees. Fingerless gloves were what I needed, as well. I am always grateful for my apartment, but especially on cold, wet nights like this. It's 54 degrees. I love it. And this weather is great for the cannabis business.
Today was really busy, from the minute we opened. People hurried in to get their supplies before the rain started. I was sure that once it started raining, the lines would die down. But that didn't happen. The lines were long, and the delivery drivers were busy all day.
Finally, I started receiving some of the swag that the vendors give out to get us to sell their stuff. Made out on medicated gummies. Today, I got an actual goodie bag filled with t-shirts which are too small for me to ever wear, and product, including CBD gummies and a vape cartridge.
Yesterday, as she was leaving, a woman yelled at the guard that she needed her medicine because of all these states taking away women's rights. I felt for her. That's what I feel like doing to random cashiers and security guards, snap them awake to what's happening. But that would be cruel.
That's why I like where I am. I have not heard one thing mentioned about current events or politics, except when Kyle, who was a poly-sci major, told me to be sure to vote in the participatory budgeting process that we have in Vallejo. Otherwise, the talk is of mundane matters, such as what is for lunch, where you're going for lunch, what edibles were eaten the night before, how someone "mistakenly" had a THC rich edible for breakfast, rats and bugs, how so many people are getting sick, and other normal work place conversation.
It's one of the highlights of being invisible, doing my job. The people I work with are so young that it is hard to not feel maternal. I've been here for two months, and I know that LJ's baby is due in October, Onyx bites his nails to the quick, and Jordan, a big, sturdy guy who seems so self assured is, as he put it, "deathly afraid of cancer and cataracts." That's why he likes cannabis. It quells the anxiety.
They know I am there, so it's not sneaky eavesdropping, but it's so funny to be so normalized that they don't stop talking when I am around. Much of the time, I am in my counting zone, mezmerized by all the different strains (today's new one: Jurassic Park https://www.leafly.com/products/details/western-cultured-jurassic-ogk. But I do hear my share of juice. I know stuff. I will end up knowing more, and wishing I didn't. As a matter of fact, the owner's assistant chatted with me about the vermin infestation. She told me it wasn't a new thing, which grossed me out even more.
She started at the place two months before I did, and the budtenders were bugging her to talk to Greg for them. I am so glad I know that back ground, as if I would ever get involved in another advocacy campaign regarding the health and safety of the place of my employment. Lori, my colleague, said she told them to take it a step at a time, and they didn't. In their defense, it's been going on for at least a year. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out. Will someone have to be infected with rabies for him to take this seriously?
Today was really busy, from the minute we opened. People hurried in to get their supplies before the rain started. I was sure that once it started raining, the lines would die down. But that didn't happen. The lines were long, and the delivery drivers were busy all day.
Finally, I started receiving some of the swag that the vendors give out to get us to sell their stuff. Made out on medicated gummies. Today, I got an actual goodie bag filled with t-shirts which are too small for me to ever wear, and product, including CBD gummies and a vape cartridge.
Yesterday, as she was leaving, a woman yelled at the guard that she needed her medicine because of all these states taking away women's rights. I felt for her. That's what I feel like doing to random cashiers and security guards, snap them awake to what's happening. But that would be cruel.
That's why I like where I am. I have not heard one thing mentioned about current events or politics, except when Kyle, who was a poly-sci major, told me to be sure to vote in the participatory budgeting process that we have in Vallejo. Otherwise, the talk is of mundane matters, such as what is for lunch, where you're going for lunch, what edibles were eaten the night before, how someone "mistakenly" had a THC rich edible for breakfast, rats and bugs, how so many people are getting sick, and other normal work place conversation.
It's one of the highlights of being invisible, doing my job. The people I work with are so young that it is hard to not feel maternal. I've been here for two months, and I know that LJ's baby is due in October, Onyx bites his nails to the quick, and Jordan, a big, sturdy guy who seems so self assured is, as he put it, "deathly afraid of cancer and cataracts." That's why he likes cannabis. It quells the anxiety.
They know I am there, so it's not sneaky eavesdropping, but it's so funny to be so normalized that they don't stop talking when I am around. Much of the time, I am in my counting zone, mezmerized by all the different strains (today's new one: Jurassic Park https://www.leafly.com/products/details/western-cultured-jurassic-ogk. But I do hear my share of juice. I know stuff. I will end up knowing more, and wishing I didn't. As a matter of fact, the owner's assistant chatted with me about the vermin infestation. She told me it wasn't a new thing, which grossed me out even more.
She started at the place two months before I did, and the budtenders were bugging her to talk to Greg for them. I am so glad I know that back ground, as if I would ever get involved in another advocacy campaign regarding the health and safety of the place of my employment. Lori, my colleague, said she told them to take it a step at a time, and they didn't. In their defense, it's been going on for at least a year. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out. Will someone have to be infected with rabies for him to take this seriously?
Saturday, May 11, 2019
Time Flies
It's been a while. I am still counting. Whenever it gets really boring, I remind myself that, boring is good. Boring is healing. In some ways, this job is a regular job in a regular business just like any other job I have every had. In other ways, this job is one of the most surreal experiences of my life.
Since everyone is so busy, no one trained me. Ernest said they needed a spread sheet, so I have been making and entering data into some really cool ones. That's what I do when I am not counting. Really, though, I am there as a deterrence. People will be less likely to steal if I am around. The owner has cameras everywhere and can see every transaction taking place. But it's always good to have on the floor supervision. Great, I'm the narc.
This week, I counted flower, concentrates, edibles, and flower again. Now it's my weekend. The only work I brought home was 1/8 oz of weed, as it is known among people my age.
There are quite a few of us who have May birthdays. Kaitlyn, a young mom and top seller, and I were talking the other day, and I mentioned that this birthday was going to be big one. She asked me which one, and I told her 60. No point in lying. All my info is on the computer.
Last week, a woman my age or a little older, saw me sitting and counting, and was all excited because an old person worked here. Yesterday, the same woman came in and told me she put her resume in for a job. She is so loud. And she called me old again.
A few posts ago, I said that there were many, many similarities between the wine and pot industries. The winery where I worked was located in north Napa, and the views were spectacular. The winery building itself was palatial, with a terrace overlooking the vineyards. Trash was taken out every evening, and the building was sparkling clean.
The offices I worked in were cleaned at night. Organization and efficiency ruled. That is not the way it is at the dispensary.
I like this job, but this is the filthiest, most disorganized place I've ever worked. There is clutter everywhere, and I have a high tolerance of chaos. This is worse. The back room is a place where I try to spend as little time as possible. It's where the offices are. It's dark and creepy, stuff piled everywhere.
Last Friday, Ernest had me sit at his desk and learn a data entry program, which was not hard. The hard part was that I was supposed to adjust prices and apply discounts from one item to others. It was stuff that Ernest has in his head. He tried to explain it to me at 4:00 on a Friday afternoon. It got very math-y, too, and my brain shut down. I was relieved that i didn't have to sit in the very tiny back corner of the office, closed in by boxes and containers.
Worse than this, though, is the bug and vermin problem. Before I even knew about it, I went home for lunch because i was reluctant to use the rest room at work, because it wasn't clean. Not only that, in order to get to the rest room, you have to go through the back, and several times in the past few weeks, large rats have surprised people on their way to the bathroom.
Then there are the bugs. the owner doesn't want to shell out for an exterminator, so he sent away for maggots, because he thinks they will kill the bugs. I gagged when I heard about that. Of course, it can always get worse, and it did.
When I got to work this morning, I asked David, the security guard who unlocked the door for me, if there had been any drama, since it was only 8:30 am. He was anxious to tell me about the dead, bloody rat in the main room that greeted him when he arrived. He was freaking out.
Two bud tenders walked right by it (occupational hazard). Once the gravity and gore of the situation sunk in, these badass guys to whom I will always be grateful, cleaned up the entire crime scene. Rob offered his theories on how the death happened, as he and Alex did what had to be done, including mopping and disposal, to make everything customer ready, or "retail pretty," as Ernest said the other day.
This made me want to leave. The union rep came to talk to the owner, who, according to the grapevine, doesn't care. OSHA did an inspection a few days ago, and I was sure they would shut us down or fine the owner, or something. The inspector said people would have to keep complaining.
Several of us have been bitten by something that causes an allergic reaction. Four people are out with bronchitis. And, most disgusting of all, this is not the first rat encounter. Every day last week there was at least one rat scurrying through the back, and they are bold creatures. Isn't this how the bubonic plague spread?
A new security guard started yesterday. His name is John. He listens to Frank Sinatra. Today I asked him if he is from New York. "From the Bronx," he said. My dad was from Yonkers. I felt him winking at me today.
Since everyone is so busy, no one trained me. Ernest said they needed a spread sheet, so I have been making and entering data into some really cool ones. That's what I do when I am not counting. Really, though, I am there as a deterrence. People will be less likely to steal if I am around. The owner has cameras everywhere and can see every transaction taking place. But it's always good to have on the floor supervision. Great, I'm the narc.
This week, I counted flower, concentrates, edibles, and flower again. Now it's my weekend. The only work I brought home was 1/8 oz of weed, as it is known among people my age.
There are quite a few of us who have May birthdays. Kaitlyn, a young mom and top seller, and I were talking the other day, and I mentioned that this birthday was going to be big one. She asked me which one, and I told her 60. No point in lying. All my info is on the computer.
Last week, a woman my age or a little older, saw me sitting and counting, and was all excited because an old person worked here. Yesterday, the same woman came in and told me she put her resume in for a job. She is so loud. And she called me old again.
A few posts ago, I said that there were many, many similarities between the wine and pot industries. The winery where I worked was located in north Napa, and the views were spectacular. The winery building itself was palatial, with a terrace overlooking the vineyards. Trash was taken out every evening, and the building was sparkling clean.
The offices I worked in were cleaned at night. Organization and efficiency ruled. That is not the way it is at the dispensary.
I like this job, but this is the filthiest, most disorganized place I've ever worked. There is clutter everywhere, and I have a high tolerance of chaos. This is worse. The back room is a place where I try to spend as little time as possible. It's where the offices are. It's dark and creepy, stuff piled everywhere.
Last Friday, Ernest had me sit at his desk and learn a data entry program, which was not hard. The hard part was that I was supposed to adjust prices and apply discounts from one item to others. It was stuff that Ernest has in his head. He tried to explain it to me at 4:00 on a Friday afternoon. It got very math-y, too, and my brain shut down. I was relieved that i didn't have to sit in the very tiny back corner of the office, closed in by boxes and containers.
Worse than this, though, is the bug and vermin problem. Before I even knew about it, I went home for lunch because i was reluctant to use the rest room at work, because it wasn't clean. Not only that, in order to get to the rest room, you have to go through the back, and several times in the past few weeks, large rats have surprised people on their way to the bathroom.
Then there are the bugs. the owner doesn't want to shell out for an exterminator, so he sent away for maggots, because he thinks they will kill the bugs. I gagged when I heard about that. Of course, it can always get worse, and it did.
When I got to work this morning, I asked David, the security guard who unlocked the door for me, if there had been any drama, since it was only 8:30 am. He was anxious to tell me about the dead, bloody rat in the main room that greeted him when he arrived. He was freaking out.
Two bud tenders walked right by it (occupational hazard). Once the gravity and gore of the situation sunk in, these badass guys to whom I will always be grateful, cleaned up the entire crime scene. Rob offered his theories on how the death happened, as he and Alex did what had to be done, including mopping and disposal, to make everything customer ready, or "retail pretty," as Ernest said the other day.
This made me want to leave. The union rep came to talk to the owner, who, according to the grapevine, doesn't care. OSHA did an inspection a few days ago, and I was sure they would shut us down or fine the owner, or something. The inspector said people would have to keep complaining.
Several of us have been bitten by something that causes an allergic reaction. Four people are out with bronchitis. And, most disgusting of all, this is not the first rat encounter. Every day last week there was at least one rat scurrying through the back, and they are bold creatures. Isn't this how the bubonic plague spread?
A new security guard started yesterday. His name is John. He listens to Frank Sinatra. Today I asked him if he is from New York. "From the Bronx," he said. My dad was from Yonkers. I felt him winking at me today.
Saturday, April 20, 2019
420
Today is 4/20, a significant day for stoners. 420 has become an iconic symbol in the cannabis world. 4:20 is the time to smoke pot, just like happy hour is for alcohol. I have seen it used for years, and until I googled it today, I didn't know the origin. Maybe I did, and forgot. Occupational hazard.
San Rafael is a bedroom community to San Francisco, located in Marin County. In the 1970s, a group of high school guys called themselves the Waldos. Somehow they came into possession of a treasure map, from a friend who had buried a large amount of pot in the woods in Bolinas, near the beach.
Each afternoon, the boys would meet after sports practice, which ended at 4:20 pm., and embark on the hunt for the cannabis. During the school day, they'd remind each other in the halls of their quest, in code, saying 4:20, no one knew what they were up to.
It would be easy to blow this off, but they have all kinds of proof that they've kept in a safety deposit box. The group consists of five guys, grandfathers now, three of whom agreed to be interviewed publicly.
In the marijuana industry, 4/20 is Black Friday. When I started this job, I was informed that everyone works on 4/20. The deals are a great draw, plus it's all kinds of festive, like New Years Eve in Time Square.
I was dreading it, up until yesterday, when Yelli told me that they weren't going to inventory today. It was going to be a scene that would definitely harsh my mellow. Way too many people wanting really good deals. After working in retail on Christmas Eve one year, I vowed I would never do that again. And I didn't have to. I am probably the only cannabis industry employee who didn't have to work today and I am totally ok with that.
San Rafael is a bedroom community to San Francisco, located in Marin County. In the 1970s, a group of high school guys called themselves the Waldos. Somehow they came into possession of a treasure map, from a friend who had buried a large amount of pot in the woods in Bolinas, near the beach.
Each afternoon, the boys would meet after sports practice, which ended at 4:20 pm., and embark on the hunt for the cannabis. During the school day, they'd remind each other in the halls of their quest, in code, saying 4:20, no one knew what they were up to.
It would be easy to blow this off, but they have all kinds of proof that they've kept in a safety deposit box. The group consists of five guys, grandfathers now, three of whom agreed to be interviewed publicly.
In the marijuana industry, 4/20 is Black Friday. When I started this job, I was informed that everyone works on 4/20. The deals are a great draw, plus it's all kinds of festive, like New Years Eve in Time Square.
I was dreading it, up until yesterday, when Yelli told me that they weren't going to inventory today. It was going to be a scene that would definitely harsh my mellow. Way too many people wanting really good deals. After working in retail on Christmas Eve one year, I vowed I would never do that again. And I didn't have to. I am probably the only cannabis industry employee who didn't have to work today and I am totally ok with that.
Friday, April 19, 2019
A Month In
It's been a month.
I'm happy I'm still there. Counting is relaxing. On the stress scale, it is so far from the stress of being a teacher or working in Washington DC for yellers. I know what I am supposed to do, and I do it. The job is well defined. The metrics are clear. I show up and do what I am supposed to do.
When I go home, this job does not come with me, unlike teaching, where I would wake up at 3:00 am (a favorite time of insomnia for teachers) with thoughts of the most troubling child in my head. After teaching for many years, and having to think in 40 different directions through the day, it is gratifying focus on one thing. I am good at it. I needed it, not just for the money, but for the escape from the craziness of current events these days. Throughout the day, I rarely think of politics, which makes me feel so much calmer.
I work with interesting people, many of whom have done other really stressful career things, like me. James started when I started. He used to be a counselor for people undergoing gender reassignment surgery. He said as crazy as it can get, working at VHHC is a day at the beach. LJ worked the drive through at In-n-Out on weekend nights. Again, another day at the beach.
The amount of product is amazing, not to mention the continuous movement. Restocking and shelving goes on daily, and it boggles my mind how Sierra, the buyer, and Yelli, the manager, keep it all together.
This week, a woman about my age came in and was overwhelmed by what greeted her when she entered. It was her first time in a dispensary, after years of illegal cannabis consumption. She full out cried. I gave her a hug, because I remembered my first time, as did several other customers. She couldn't believe how easy it all was.
My first visit to a dispensary was in Colorado. I googled dispensaries in Fort Collins, and my GPS took me to an anonymous industrial park strip mall. It felt like walking into a conventional doctor's office waiting room, except for the floor-to-ceiling windows looking into a huge crop of growing cannabis plants. I sat in the waiting room, waiting to be called into the actual shop, like I was waiting for the dentist. I bought flower, an indica and sativa. Each came in a prescription bottle, and was put in a stapled bag.
Walking outside, I felt like the cops were going to get me, until I remembered how legal it all was. It felt so liberating. I stopped at dispensaries in Vancouver, Washington, and in Portland, Oregon. In the interest of seeing the different interpretations of cannabis shops, I bought a joint or two in each place.
In Vancouver, where I was visiting Jane, a jewelry store had been rehabbed into a chic, all white boutique, where the cannabis was displayed in the jewel cases, and on shelves in glass bottles. Again, I bought a joint. We crossed the street and went to a funky tea room, the walls covered in framed mirrors, for lunch. Later, we smoked the joint in her garden, as the sun was going down.
I drove most of the night to get to Portland from Astonia, a beach town far away from Portland. I thought I would be able to find a place to eat and sleep, but since it was October, the place was shut down and deserted. After a harrowing several hour ride, I stopped at a coffee shop to recover from a stormy night on one lane roads. One of the presidential debates was that night, and the politically themed shop was having a watch party later.
I googled another shop called Vertigo, and, once again, let my GPS guide me. In its previous life, the space had been a saloon. It still had that whiskey and cigar feel, as well as a great name.
When I got to Vallejo, I got myself a medical marijuana card and went immediately to the place where I now work. I felt just like the woman this morning, but I wasn't quite as emotional.
It is a big thing for people in our generation to walk into a pot super market. When we were coming up, we could never imagine it even being legal. Not only is it now legal, it is a booming business.
For most of my life, using cannabis has been illegal and forbidden, which added a certain cachet to it. Now it's legal and above board, and the San Francisco has a cannabis section in its Sunday paper, as well as a wine section.
I'm happy I'm still there. Counting is relaxing. On the stress scale, it is so far from the stress of being a teacher or working in Washington DC for yellers. I know what I am supposed to do, and I do it. The job is well defined. The metrics are clear. I show up and do what I am supposed to do.
When I go home, this job does not come with me, unlike teaching, where I would wake up at 3:00 am (a favorite time of insomnia for teachers) with thoughts of the most troubling child in my head. After teaching for many years, and having to think in 40 different directions through the day, it is gratifying focus on one thing. I am good at it. I needed it, not just for the money, but for the escape from the craziness of current events these days. Throughout the day, I rarely think of politics, which makes me feel so much calmer.
I work with interesting people, many of whom have done other really stressful career things, like me. James started when I started. He used to be a counselor for people undergoing gender reassignment surgery. He said as crazy as it can get, working at VHHC is a day at the beach. LJ worked the drive through at In-n-Out on weekend nights. Again, another day at the beach.
The amount of product is amazing, not to mention the continuous movement. Restocking and shelving goes on daily, and it boggles my mind how Sierra, the buyer, and Yelli, the manager, keep it all together.
This week, a woman about my age came in and was overwhelmed by what greeted her when she entered. It was her first time in a dispensary, after years of illegal cannabis consumption. She full out cried. I gave her a hug, because I remembered my first time, as did several other customers. She couldn't believe how easy it all was.
My first visit to a dispensary was in Colorado. I googled dispensaries in Fort Collins, and my GPS took me to an anonymous industrial park strip mall. It felt like walking into a conventional doctor's office waiting room, except for the floor-to-ceiling windows looking into a huge crop of growing cannabis plants. I sat in the waiting room, waiting to be called into the actual shop, like I was waiting for the dentist. I bought flower, an indica and sativa. Each came in a prescription bottle, and was put in a stapled bag.
Walking outside, I felt like the cops were going to get me, until I remembered how legal it all was. It felt so liberating. I stopped at dispensaries in Vancouver, Washington, and in Portland, Oregon. In the interest of seeing the different interpretations of cannabis shops, I bought a joint or two in each place.
In Vancouver, where I was visiting Jane, a jewelry store had been rehabbed into a chic, all white boutique, where the cannabis was displayed in the jewel cases, and on shelves in glass bottles. Again, I bought a joint. We crossed the street and went to a funky tea room, the walls covered in framed mirrors, for lunch. Later, we smoked the joint in her garden, as the sun was going down.
I drove most of the night to get to Portland from Astonia, a beach town far away from Portland. I thought I would be able to find a place to eat and sleep, but since it was October, the place was shut down and deserted. After a harrowing several hour ride, I stopped at a coffee shop to recover from a stormy night on one lane roads. One of the presidential debates was that night, and the politically themed shop was having a watch party later.
I googled another shop called Vertigo, and, once again, let my GPS guide me. In its previous life, the space had been a saloon. It still had that whiskey and cigar feel, as well as a great name.
When I got to Vallejo, I got myself a medical marijuana card and went immediately to the place where I now work. I felt just like the woman this morning, but I wasn't quite as emotional.
It is a big thing for people in our generation to walk into a pot super market. When we were coming up, we could never imagine it even being legal. Not only is it now legal, it is a booming business.
For most of my life, using cannabis has been illegal and forbidden, which added a certain cachet to it. Now it's legal and above board, and the San Francisco has a cannabis section in its Sunday paper, as well as a wine section.
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