Directions from a stoner

I haven't smoked pot, regularly, in about five years. In fact, the last time I smoked at all, was about a year and a half ago. At which point, I was smoking at a rate of about twice every year. I don't want to give the wrong impression. This isn't some self-righteous, anti-drug sermon. I used to partake in rockin' the ganj', smokin' the left-handed cigarettes, sparkin' the doobies, rollin' the blunts, wake 'n' baking, or any other colloquialism that you can relate to. I used to smoke A LOT.
But in my five years of 'clearing the fog,' I've learned a few things. Or perhaps I should say, re-learned a few things. Not one of which is the fact that one needs one's keys the first time that one attempts to get in one's car. I've come to realize that just because you are an ex-stoner, it doesn't mean that you're not going to show up to work, and realize that you've forgotten your shoes (which is a completely different story, for another time).

I've learned that the people at 7-11 will always think that you are a stoner. Seriously, a man can't go into 7-11 at two in the morning, buy a bag of chips, a jar of cheese-dip, a twix bar, a snickers, a pint of ice cream, a box of popcorn, one of those single serving cereals, a half-gallon of milk, and a Gatorade, without the cashiers thinking that he's a stoner? What is this world coming to? I'm just extremely indecisive.

After five years of more-or-less (I don't want to use the word sobriety, because that would imply something that I am not) marijuana abstinence, I think I'm finally starting to realize why people would get so annoyed with me when I was still in a fog. When one is stoned, simple tasks become near-impossible.

I had promised a guy a ride to work. I called him before I left, to get directions.

"Hello, is this John (not his real name)?"

"What's up man?" <---I'll put John in italics

"So...how do I get to your house?"

"huh?"

"You still need a ride, right?"

"Ohhhh...yeah. hehehe."

"Alright, well I need to know how to get to where you are, in order to be where you are, so that I
can get you to where you want to be."

"whoa...that's deep, man"

"Well, I didn't realize I was making such a prophetic statement; however, I still need to know
where you live."

"Oh yeah, man...alright. Do you know where Market street is?"

"No, I do not."

"Wow, that sucks...'cause I do..." (silence)

"Uhhh...O.K. How do I get to Market street?"

"Well, do you know where the Sweet Bay is?"

"Yes, I know where about seven Sweet Bays are."

"Awesome..." (silence)

"Is there one Sweet Bay, in particular, that I should be looking for?"

"Dude, Sweet Bay...Are you going there? Could you pick me up some food?"

"..."

"Are ya still there?"

"You could just hitchhike, ya know?"

"Oh yeah, directions. Do you know where Market Street is?"

"...!"

"Hey....Which way are you coming from?"

"I do not know which way I am coming from, because I do not know where I am going to."

"whoa...that's deep, man."

"...!!"

"Oh yeah, Do you know where Main Street is?"

"Yes I do."

"Well, it's kinda near Market Street. Oh..."

"Alright, how near?"

"Well, ya get on Main Street. Then ya drive a while, and then you'll see Maryland Avenue. But
you don't wanna get on Maryland Avenue. Ya wanna get on Missouri Avenue, which is off of
Maryland Avenue."

"I thought you said that I didn't want to get on Maryland."

"Ya don't, ya want Missouri Avenue."

"Well, how am I supposed to...nevermind. What's after Missouri?"

"Dude, I don't know, you tell me."

"Dammit!"

"No wait...I know...Well, ya go up Missouri Avenue, and I'm right there on the left...on Palm
Street."

"What?!"

"Yeah, Palm Street."

"I thought we were on Missouri."

"No...Why would we be on Missouri? Aren't we in different places?"

"You know what?!! How 'bout I just drive to Main Street? And I'll call you from there. That
sounds like a fantastic idea. Even better, I'll just goto work, and you can call me if figure out how the fuck to get to your house. If you call me before I get to work, then I'll pick you up. If not, well
I suppose you're out of luck."

Men are slowly turning into women

As a man, buying personal hygiene products used to be a simple process. You go into the store, you find the cheapest bottle of shampoo, the cheapest pack of soap bars, look for some sort of buy one get twelve free deal on deodorant sticks, buy a 32-pack of disposable razors, a one-gallon canister of shaving cream, throw in some toothpaste and mouthwash, and you're done. All in under 90 seconds.

But men, are we turning into women? I walk into the store now, and the hygiene section is inundated with a wide variety of fragranced products, marketed towards men. I used to ask two simple questions when buying some sort of cleanser for my body. Will it kill germs? Will it cause me to not smell like a sweaty bastard? And generally, the answer to both was yes, unless I happened to be in the wrong aisle at the time…say, the poultry aisle.

Now, I am forced to ask myself all kinds of questions that I never thought I would have to ask, when buying personal hygiene products. Questions like, Viper? Why would I want to smell like a viper? Don't they slither around in the dirt all day? Phoenix? Do they mean like Phoenix, Arizona? I've never been there. Does it smell nice? Clix? C'mon…that's not even a noun. Scratch that. It's not even a word. And if it were a word, it would not be a person, place, or thing. And if it is not one of these items, how am I supposed to know what it smells like?

What happened to a simple bar of soap? Where did all of these 'masculine' body washes come from? Am I going to need some sort of poofy contraption to use this stuff?

I glance at the women's portion of the body cleansing section, which seems to be smaller than the men's portion these days. They have things like, raspberries and lilac. Now that I can understand. I can visualize a raspberry and imagine what it smells like. Also, while I have no idea what a lilac, specifically, smells like, I know that a lilac is a flower, thanks to the fancy packaging. And flowers smell pleasant. They also have things like, pear-scented body spray, and white chocolate mocha. Fantastic. I know what all of those things smell like.

Anyways, I'm standing in the hygiene section at Walgreen's, confounded by the assortment of choices before me, when a young lady approaches and asks,

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Well, maybe," I say. "What does Phoenix smell like?"

"What?" she says, quite confused.

"Phoenix, what does it smell like?"

"Uhhh…I've never been," she replies.

"Neither have I," I say. "It just seems like, if I'm going to buy a product that's going to make me smell a certain way, I should probably know what that product smells like, don't ya think?"

"Um…I guess," she says.

"What about snake peel?" I inquire. "I wasn't aware that a snake peel had a particular scent."

"Well, I uh…" she says as she raises an eyebrow. "I don't know."

"This re-load sounds kind of cool," I say. "It kinda sounds like you're reloading a gun or something. But I don't think I'm lookin' for something that sounds good. I want something that smells good. This isn't going to make me smell like a gun is it?"

The young lady scratches her head, and laughs. I think she's laughing at me, not with me, though. "Ya know, it might. I don't think so, though."

"Well, good," I say. "I don't want to smell like a smoking barrel when I get out of the shower. I don't think that will attract the ladies."

"Yeah, I don't know," she says.

"Should I invest in a poof?" I ask.

"What?" She asks through broken laughter.

"Ya know, a poof," I say as I slightly bend my fingers, and jut my hands, back and forth, towards each other. "One of those things, on a string…it's a poof."

"Um…you could just use a washcloth."

"Good idea," I say. "That way I'll feel like a man when I'm applying my body wash."

"Uh…yep."

"Thank you," I say. "You've been a great help. I can see why you work here."