Memoirs of a Pothead

"The Coolest"

"Wait, so she told you that you looked cute in school?" Eric asked with wide eyes. "And what'd you say back to her?"

"I told her thanks. And that next time don't be a stranger and say hi." Of course she didn't realize how literal I was being when I had said it.

"Enough with the suspense, you Pretty Little Liar. You have to find out who your 'A' is, and get some A from her!"

I laughed at the joke, but deep down Eric had touched on something I had already been thinking about. Not the Pretty Little Liars reference of course, but the fact that I had no idea who this girl was but she knew so much about me. It was a little unsettling. "Dude, shutup, I think we both know that we have more pressing matters than some mystery girl."

We were sitting at a short table in my basement breaking down and bagging up the product into small bags. There were three large nuggets of the pungent green herb resting in the middle of the table. On the left side of the table were a pile of tiny empty zip-lock bags, a portable circular scale, and two foot-long orange pill bottles. On the right side there was only the large bag of weed, which was now slightly smaller, missing the weed that we'd smoked and the product that Rock and Toad had already bagged. It was causing the entire basement to reek of marijuana, something neither of us minded, but my parent's probably wouldn't have approved of all that much. Thankfully, they weren't due back until tomorrow and the smell would be long gone by then.

Eric grabbed one of the nuggets and weighed it. I grabbed a nug* from the table and did the same. Then we fractioned them up until they were an acceptable size and filled the bags. There was something oddly enjoyable about bagging them up. Maybe it was just the fact that we were potheads handling weed, or maybe I was one of those people that got a rush form breaking laws. Regardless of the reason, the time seemed to fly and before I knew it we had 50 small bags sitting in the middle of the table.

"Okay, I think that's enough for today right?" Eric said lying back onto the couch. "There's 50 of them and at $10 a pop, there's $500 right there."

"Yeah, something like that."

Eric was mostly right. It did translate to $500, if we sold them all wholesale. We probably wouldn't sale them all wholesale. Only idiots paid wholesale for weed; every good drug dealer had deals. It seems that even when it came to buying drugs, it was always smarter to buy in bulk.

"Good, 'cause I have some chem that's due tomorrow that I didn't even start yet." He stood up and slung his bookbag over his shoulder. "What type of teacher gives someone homework on the second day of school? It's senior year! I'm graduating; she should be sucking on my ball sack!" He quoted 'Superbad', a movie that we referenced often.

"Yeah, yeah. Iight bro, I'll see you tomorrow." I said and fist-bumped him. He ran upstairs and I heard the door front door close. Then a second later, open right back up. I looked at the table and laughed. Eric was an idiot.

"Dude, my bad. Forgot the weed!" He laughed and grabbed the medicine bottle and filled it with 25 of the bags. Then, he left, for good this time. I sprayed a hefty amount of Febreze, made sure to get up every last tell-tale tiny ziplock bag, and placed the bag of weed, my medicine bottle, and the small scale into their respective hiding places.

 ---                                                          

I closed my locker after putting my bookbag in. After last week, I decided it was best to leave the product in the car, at least until I found a better way to cover up the smell. I grabbed my notebook and was just about to make my way to Physics when I turned around and almost ran right into the blonde girl from my Physics class.