Saturday, March 22, 2008

someone got too high in amsterdam

so, i don't make a habit of smoking pot.

every once in a while i'll get into the spirit. last february i purchased my first and only eighth from one of my coworkers. i suppose i'll leave out names in case my partner in crime doesn't want his or her illegal activities published on the interwebs, but my "friend" and i decided to smoke one evening in my apartment.

there's nothing more hilarious than watching two people who've never smoked on their own before figure out how to do it it. i ended up balancing my cell phone on my shoulder while my (three-years) younger brother instructed me, step-by-step, how to roll a joint. so much for being the older, wiser sister.

after crouching on my bed near open window, wondering aloud if i was "doing it right," we got high. and then i layed on my bed ate two or three bags of microwave popcorn while my concomitant sat in the other room, typing furiously at the computer. at least i think so - i couldn't be bothered to find out. i was too busy thinking thoughts like "this popcorn makes different sounds depending on which teeth i chew it with."

and that was the last time i was high. i avoid it, mostly to avoid the embarassment that comes with being the newbie. i always need coached, or need someone else to light the bong while i try to coordinate inhaling with releasing my finger from the little hold, or whatever it is you're supposed to do.

but this weekend, in amsterdam, i figured... when in rome, right?

the six of us collected at a coffeeshop at about 8:30 saturday night. we parked ourselves at a table where two dutch were already seated, and they passed us what appeared to be a community bong. identifying that as an option with questionalbe safety, we purchased a joint.

leading up to this, i desperately wanted to eat some sort of muffin as opposed to smoke. i figured i could get high while avoiding the inevitable embarassment of attempting to smoke. the coffeeshop was out, so i settled for the joint being passed around.

i took a few hits and after 10 minutes or so hadn't felt anything. something seemed amiss. so in my crucial mistake of the night, i spoke up and confessed "i don't think i'm doing this right."

then came the onslaught of coaching. exhale first! hold it in! if you breathe out smoke, it worked! it was nice, i suppose - i didn't feel embarassed. in fact i felt emboldened. so when someone suggested i take an extra hit or two "just to be safe," i did.

the next thing i remember, i was outside. still sitting on my chair, exactly as before, all my friends circled around me in what seemed like the same order they'd been sitting in seconds before. it seemed like someone had rolled up the background of inside like a classroom map and rolled down one with a picture of the outside in its place. a bleach-blond gentleman whom i'd never met was handing me three huge, white tablets.

"eat these, they'll make you feel better."

isn't that what guys say to girls just before they try to date rape them?

at first, no one would really tell me what was going on. just that everything was okay and that i should eat the tablets. sugar tablets, apparently, not giant roofies. so i started sucking on one and it made me feel terrible. i was hot but the blond gentleman insisted that i put a jacket on.

so here's what happened (as i was told): i remember all of a sudden feeling very high. i wanted to get up to use the bathroom but thought pretty confidently that i wouldn't be able to walk the 5 feet between there and my seat. i leaned my head on my hand, which drew the attention of my friends (as i seemed to be lapsing into my usual state when under the influence of any sort of drug - sleepiness.) as i listened to pleas to "make it a happy high," i tried to comply but instead fainted.

apparently i went forward first, putting my forehead on the table, arms dangling at my sides. my friends thought i was joking, and the friend to my right nudged me so as to persuade me to sit up. i did, but not on purpose - and slumped back in my chair, mouth open, eyes closed, white as a sheet. that's when everyone panicked.

my five friends went five directions to seek help, and finally the bartender (the nice bleach blond gentleman with the pills) picked me up, chair and all, and took me outside. i was out for about four minutes.

so my fears of looking like a novice were verified. i got so high that my blood sugar dropped (something that allegedly happens quite often, even to large men with much more body mass than me), and i passed out in a coffee shop in amsterdam, the smoking capital of the world.

enough to make me not want to smoke for quite a while. that, and the terrible four hours i spent coming down from that high, of which about fifteen minutes were pleasant. i was in "funny" high mode, sitting in my chair outside the coffeeshop, wrapped in my coat and someone else's pashmina, from about 9:30 to 9:45. i was fed crackers, trying to muster up enough confidence in the ability of my legs to hold my weight, and for that time it was fun.

i convinced my friends that if the cracker was too small, i shouldn't eat it because i would bite my fingers off. "teeth are sharp," i told them. then i described the scene from batman where the penguin bites off someones nose.

"like mike tyson and evander holyfield," someone added.

"yeah! hey, if mike tyson had a mini-me, its name would be "tyke myson," i said.

so after nearly scaring everyone to death, at least i was able to entertain them nonsensical statements about popular culture. and smart ass remarks.

"hey," i said to the bartender, "do you think if i bit my fingers off, that would raise my blood sugar?"

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