I live near some pathetic drug users. I'm not supposed to partake because it fucks with this whole “sobriety” thing I'm working towards, but I can critique them; most definitely. What truly needs to happen here, is mandatory classes, led by me, on how to do and care for your drugs properly.
I have this neighbor. He’s not a subtle drug dealer, selling to other residents from the trunk of his vehicle in the communal parking lot. He’s also not very smart. He approached me once and attempted to strike up a conversation about his neck tattoo, which was clearly some kind of glitter body paint that was flaking off. He was either convinced that it was real, or he was coming off a serious trip. He should probably stick to smoking weed, which he totally fucking sucks at, but at least he won’t end up talking to strangers about fake, girly glitter tattoos, like he’s some hard-ass who did time and his cellmate gave him this prison tat.
This guy has a nasty habit of making me want to straight knee-kick him. Every night at around dinner time, when it’s most offensive, because we’re trying to eat, this muthafucker decides to light up. In and of itself, not so big a deal. The smell of pot is fucking glorious. It’s the sound of his death rattle, cough-up-a-small-hairy-animal hacking, that makes me want to crawl over the balcony and throttle him to a bloody mess. “LEARN HOW TO INHALE YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT!!!” If emphysema and Slimer from Ghostbusters had a baby, and that baby had a cold, his cough is exactly what it would sound like. Fucking disgusting.
From my kitchen, through open windows and an open sliding glass door, I yell “For fuck’s sake, learn how to hold your smoke!” Seriously, my Mom can smoke weed better that that. He ought to be ashamed of himself, yet there he is, out on his balcony, pretending to die every night, getting my hopes up like a child promised a toy at Christmas only to find that their parents didn’t order ahead, and the store is sold out. Not that that has ever happened to me – nope…never.
There is performance with the drug in question, then there is upkeep or maintenance of paraphernalia. You’d better be able to do one well. I feel like, in our little community here, we have two halves of one whole.
Two buildings away from my own, and on my walk to my mailbox, I pass an apartment that reeks. It smells not of the common smells one would assume, like garlic, or curry, or dog shit, or even baby shit. It is a distinct, unmistakable, and unforgiving smell. It’s bongwater.
Do you remember accidentally spilling the bong on your mother’s living room carpet and thinking, oh shit, I am totally fucked! That is never coming out! then scurrying around the house for all the cleaning supplies you could find? Windex, carpet cleaner, dish soap, Lysol, and Febreze all tucked under your arm for good measure. Damn right you did! You knew good and damn well that shit was a permanent blight on your mom’s carpet, and your ass.
Imagine walking past a home that smelled so much of bong water that it permeated concrete walls. Either someone is excruciatingly clumsy, or someone needs to clean the various smoking devices in that home. C’mon now people, the shit you’re smoking can’t even taste good any more if you’re using 3-year-old water. You don’t recycle your bath water, do you? That’s fucking disgusting. I’m not saying clean your bong every time you smoke, but once a week is a real goal. It’s attainable too.
For these reasons I’m thinking it’s time for simple instruction. I’m going end up killing my neighbors. You’re not supposed to shit where you sleep, so this may be my only recourse. I’d like to start using the clubhouse by the pool for classes. They’ll begin on Monday nights. Monday’s already suck dick for most people. Now they’ll have an excuse to hate it even more. When they’re done, they can go home and smoke their weed. Properly. Probably for the first time in their whole miserable lives.
Just because I’ve always wanted to, and because I was subjected to catechism classes, I want a ruler to slap assholes with when their doing shit incorrectly. “No, Margaret, that’s not how you clean the interior of your glass bong! What did we learn in last week’s lesson about cleaning tools??? Soak first, then gentle swabbing!!! No wire bristles!” **Swat**
This could work. I’m building a better community…for…well…me.