8 Reasons Why Your Drug Dealer Hates You

It's been said that miserable circumstances are incited when you piss off your bartender, hairdresser or leader of your preferred religious denomination, in addition to a slew of people in other professions (your pizza delivery guy, your fitness instructor) who've had enough of you. Being that we thoroughly believe in transparency, and since these days even our moms have started smoking pot again, we're going to go right ahead and add one's drug dealer to the aforementioned list. Yes, I said it. Don't wag your finger at the monitor; I've probably got your number, too.

Of course your dealer knows the risks he or she faces from the police and federal authorities, but that isn't your dealer's main fear. Dealing can be akin to being a local celebrity, but without most of the perks that go along with stardom, and they've probably made peace or precautions with the Johnny Law scenario. Your dealer's main fear is wondering what kind of shit you're going to pull on a daily basis. (Emailing me with a request for drugs would be one of those moves, so file that under "don't even think about it" before we proceed.)

Having been a bud-slinger myself, I'm going to tell you about issues that arise when it comes to procuring drugs that make us contemplate -- gulp -- attaining a socially acceptable job with a real water cooler and all the fixings. I haven't been in the saddle for a while, but I'll never forget some of you, despite how much I wish I could. Your dealer will thank me for this.

8. Dealing often involves phone call, but it doesn't mean on-call.

A dealer might give you a break on a holiday that is either A) a lot of fun, or B) isn't really observed in their household. We have birthdays, families, court dates, and for those of us on the political spectrum, perhaps legalization rallies to attend. If it's my birthday, you certainly do not get a free birthday eighth, stop making my phone light up. Late at night is one thing, even understandable, but six o'clock in the morning is generally unacceptable.

"Dude, I know it's late..."

"Dude, so do I. I can read a clock just fine. Go to bed."

We get that we're on the fringe of it all, so we understand what a midnight call warrants. Hell, most of us expect business to pick up between 7:00 PM - Midnight, but after that, it's a case-by-case basis.Your dealer doesn't worry about rounds because we aren't doctors (even though we know how to make you feel better). We aren't like 7-Eleven. Exceptions to this rule do exist, usually for people we consider friends. This feeds into something terribly important...

8 Reasons Why Your Drug Dealer Hates You
Best friends forever?

7. My dealer, my friend? No.

This is the pseudo-celebrity aspect of dealing that gets really maddening. There is a line. We may break state and federal law more times a day than you had hot meals, but just because we do it for you doesn't mean you're the only one. If we allow you product without paper, it's because we know where you live or we actually are friends, and I actually like you. If I don't keep a cryptic way of tallying up debtors, I remember them very well. Nobody's going to come get you or slap your girlfriend, but we will find an opportune time to bring it up. Thank you for bringing me that cheeseburger I didn't ask for or the bunch of movies you were going to trade in, because it was nice. Yes, it was very nice, but Nada Surf won't pay my electricity bill. I'm sure they're very good boys, but I've never had them as clients.

6. I don't have change for that.

Break your money. I don't care if you have to go to Target and buy yourself something you'd normally buy under the influence (lawn darts, ornamental wreaths, etc.), just imagine how you'll feel after we exchange goods.

"Do you have change for $276.39"?

"I have a kick in the ass for you, but other than that, not really."

Your arcane, big money bill isn't any good here, sonny. Go buy a good bottle of wine and call me later.

8 Reasons Why Your Drug Dealer Hates You
Derelicts or simply stoners?

5. Undercover officer? No problem.

I worried more about getting robbed by derelicts because I worked hours that were pretty extensive, being an incurable insomniac. Police with a badge and uniform made me incredibly nervous; they had a badge, I had a trunk full of reefer sometimes, that's a game of rock-paper-scissors I couldn't ever win. I figured out who a few undercover people were, basically by decoding body language and getting out of whatever that situation was. A lot of being a dealer is about understanding subconscious clues and larger than life truth, because if you're going to ask me questions, I'll ask twice as many. Quid pro quo, Clarice.


8 Reasons Why Your Drug Dealer Hates You
Nate "Igor" Smith

4. Pass it to the left-hand side.

That says it all.

3. If you're in the tasting room, it's not coming out of your bag.

You can't return pot. Seriously. If I allowed anybody to partake before purchasing, it was because I was the dealer and they weren't. Sometimes I'd make them hang out and listen to crappy music I made a few hours before. I wasn't Home Depot, and you'd better believe I had make-shift receipts to cover my own ass. It helped me be accountable. It helped differentiate how much supply I had and how much supply I'd parted with. Negligible tasting wasn't a big deal, especially if could get to Krua Thai or Sunam Luang later with my recently acquired money. If you people had food around and never gave me any, you definitely made my shit-list.

2. I do not mail across state lines. Don't ask me to do that.

Since the statute of limitations has passed me by, I will admit that a certain mail-things store had a field day at my expense. I was exceptional at making up names and addresses most of the time, I hope Hugh Hefner doesn't hate me. I used 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue as well. Sorry about that, America, but it's true; prohibition does tell you what people like to do.

8 Reasons Why Your Drug Dealer Hates You
We aren't doctors (even though we know how to make you feel better)

1. Haggling is like sex without protection. It shouldn't happen.

You get what you pay for. In my case, I was always fair. If you give me an incredulous look like a fish on the line, I'm going to tell you to have a good day and move on. A dealer is a very adaptable human being; we move on very, very easily. It is allowed, every now and then, but not often. I may not report to the man, but I report to The Man, and quite cautiously. To echo famous words, "always know your dealer," in my own words, "always know your dealer as well as they'll let you."


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