I should have known the risks you run when you steal your weed from the mafia, but shit doesn’t exactly come with warning labels. I have already explained to you guys how we procured marijuana for a good chink of my high school years in Plymouth, but if you don’t know the story, click the blue letters in that first sentence to read about teenage stupidity at its finest. Anyway, you get your hands on some weed and you smoke it. That is how it worked with my friends. You also need to factor in the fact that, in the nineties, there weren’t as many strains and varieties of marijuana as there is today. There wasn’t even multiple grades. Generally, you found cheap, low-grade weed, or you found skunk. There was no in-between, atleast for us. But on one occasion, my boy snatched up his usual baggy full, and we all wandered into his basement like the stoner clichés we were all slowly becoming, yet we had an experience unlike any before. We smoked our usual copious amounts of marijuana because, for the most part, it was always the same. We would get stupid high. Put on the TV, Eat some food (as in anything not bolted down) and then wander back home when it came time. Well, we gathered together one day and did it like we always did it, and I really didn’t figure out anything was wrong until I realized one of my friends was talking to himself, one was on the floor crying, one looked like he was dying, and one was looking at me like he was going to stab me. That is the moment when I knew something was way off. How we all made it out alive I will never know.
Being out of our minds was nothing new, that is just how we passed the time. Not just in between class and on weekends, that is how we ALWAYS passed the time. I have told you many times, though I think it just a microcosm of the suburbs in general, that is how things were in Plymouth. We were, for all intents and purposes, destroying our lives for our own personal pleasure. If you could see how it was, if someone was smart enough back then to film it all, it would make the movie KIDS look like a comedy. Okay, that was a bad exaggeration we weren’t giving each other AIDS or knocking up thirteen year old girls, but we were smoking fucking angel dust and had no idea until we were all practically weeping in puddles of our own piss. How many teenagers can say that? Hell, how many would want to? Please allow me to set the story up a bit for you all.
A plant so sexy you could smoke it. Wait, has anyone ever tried that?
Matt steals the usual bag from his Dad’s stash. Like stated prior, Matt would only steal when his Dad had just hooked up, so we never knew the quality of what we were smoking until first smoke. In this instance, we are in my friend JB’s basement. You know, the one kid whose parents also smoked, yet, they kind of sketched you out because they acted like peers and not parents? Yeah, that house. So we are there, and it is Dan, Josh, Matt, JB, and myself. And like the idiots we were, we just started rolling massive joints and passing them around, until the room was filled with a thick, white haze. The thing about smoking that much is you never know how high you are until it is too late and you are there, and that is what happened here. The weed didn’t taste different, and it didn’t look different, so we smoked like we always do, and that was the first mistake we made.
First off, we never turned on the TV. We were sitting on two couches, opposite of ends of room, and we were just sitting there. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but I knew something was wrong. I realized I had been looking at the silver lining of the insulation in JB’s basement for about twenty minutes, thinking it was the liquid metal guy from Terminator 2. I am, hand to the God I don’t really believe in, not shitting you. It wasn’t until I looked at everyone else that I realized how fucked we were. Like, sloppy, messy, Hunter S. Thompson levels of fucked up.
We were like this only less cute.
Josh was sitting in the middle of the room, rocking himself back and forth and crying.
JB was having a conversation, out-loud, with someone he still swears was there. This invisible person was making JB laugh so hard he was also crying.
Matt was sitting, staring off in the space in front of him as if it was inhabited by thousands of little demons. His face was sickly white, and his eyes were as wide as anime characters.
And Dan was sitting across from me, staring at me like he was going to kill me. Literally, like he was talking himself into murdering me and just needed to work up the courage. I will never forget that look.
Yeah, it was kinda like that.
And as I watched him, and this is where it hit me were REALLY dosed, his face began to morph into something that wasn’t human. It was like his face was becoming his feelings of fear and hate, personified, and I could fucking see it.
I was scared shitless, aware something was wrong but not aware what we were under the grip of. I mustered up all of My courage and did what may sound like the stupidest thing ever, but it somehow worked. I stood up fast out of my seat so I would be looming over Dan, and I screamed like a demon, right in his face. Like, a scream. A fucking, full on scream. I only did this because I thought he was going to kill me, and in my messed up state, I wanted to scare that feeling out of him. And Dan, bless his soul reacted like he had seen the fiery face of the Devil itself. He screamed in terror as I screamed, and he leapt behind the couch, where I could hear him sobbing. Thing is, I heard myself roar. I really did. And it all went more insane from there.
I began stalking around the room, circling, like I was some Lion alpha, scared I would be torn apart by the others if I showed weakness. Dan was scared into submission. Josh had gone from sobbing to fully asleep, so we thought we was dead. And JB was just staring at me, wide-eyed. But Matt seemed to be starting to figure out something was wrong. He may have said it out loud four or five times before I heard him, but then his voice came to me as if it were playing on a tiny old CB radio. “I think this stuff was laced” he muttered, over and over.
This picture properly sums up how I felt I looked when he said it was laced.
Holy shit, this stuff was laced.
And we all had tripped on shrooms and LSD at that point, so we KNEW it was neither of those.
Holy shit, it was angel dust. It was fucking PCP.
Matt and I did our best to wrangle everyone. We sat down in that basement for what felt like forever, slowly trying to come back to Earth. I can still vividly recall the way the silver insulation cover looked like liquid mercury, pouring over cotton candy. I can still recall Dan’s look, as if he was looking at the Devil and had to kill it for the well-being of all of mankind. JB’s invisible comedian. And Josh, poor Josh, who was the most normal of us up to that point, curled up like a fetus, weeping on the floor. It was one of the scariest and least enjoyable drug experiences I have ever had, and I have had quite a few. Thing is, we all made it out alive, and we learned many things that day. Well, I did, atleast.
One, though I should have learned it earlier, you don’t steal drugs from the Mafia, or you get what you deserve. Two, I would never, ever touch Angel Dust again, even if you pay me, because it was easily the most fucked up drug I’ve ever experienced and akin to how you would imagine possession or schizophrenia. Three, that scene from Friday where Chris Tucker ends up naked in a chicken coop after smoking dust is pretty fucking accurate.
And last, I learned if you growl like a monster in someone’s face with enough conviction, you can make a grown man piss his pants. For that last lesson alone, it was all totally worth it.
The post The Plymouth Diaries: That Time I Mistakenly Smoked Angel Dust Laced Weed We Stole From The Mafia (Or) Getting What You Deserve: A True Story appeared first on Remy Carreiro.
