Weedy Fun

I walked in the front door and to my right there was a one-way mirror. I slipped the piece of paper that the physician had given me into the slit at the bottom of the mirror and someone on the other side took it. After a few seconds a friendly-sounding voice asked, "Is this your first time here?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Come on in," it said.

I walked into a small lobby and down two flights of stairs to another door. On this second door someone had written the words "Welcome to Heaven". I rung a doorbell and was buzzed in. I stepped into a typical stoner lounge area, with couches and chairs and tables upon which rested several large glass bongs. I could hear reggae in the background. I walked up to the counter and was shown all of the merchandise, informed of the differences between indica and sativa, and given a free bottle of water.

It reminded me of the coffeeshops I've visited in Amsterdam. There are, however, a few differences between buying legal weed in San Francisco and buying legal weed in Amsterdam. One difference, which struck me as soon as I got to the counter, was the selection. There were many different kinds of weed, brands if you will, of varying degrees of potency, as well as all sorts of hash and baked goodies. But then there was also the hash oil and the hash honey and the hash ice cream and the hash oil lollipops and the hybrid plants for sale. And the kief. Sweet precious kief.

Although Europe has it's version of the pothead, it seems to me that Americans take their smoking to a higher level of indulgence (or ridiculousness, depending on your opinion). I think part of this is simply because WE LIKE BIG THINGS, and when we do things, WE LIKE TO DO THINGS BIG. And QUICK. Why waste time rolling a joint every time you wanna smoke pot when you can just pack the four-footer, take a rip, and get ten times higher? In America, it seems, the tendency among most stoners is to smoke until you trip the fuck out.

The second difference involves what you have to do to get legal weed. In Amsterdam, you walk into a coffeeshop and buy as much as you want. In San Francisco, it seems to be tied to the medical profession. To get a medical approval for cannabis, I went into the office of a doctor who specializes in medical marijuana evaluations and complained of ongoing shoulder pain from a motorcycle accident I was in five years ago. It really does still hurt, which I thought would justify me becoming righteously indignant if accused of trying to con my way into legal weed. Since I hadn't been seen by a doctor for my medical problem for over three years, I would only be getting a three-month card and a referral to a local chiropractor. After I saw the chiropractor I could come back and be "re-evaluated" for no additional fee.

Wait a minute here- Are the guys who run the medical profession a bit smarter than we think? Could they really have convinced big government to look the other way for the sake of making everyone A LOT OF MONEY?

And yet, despite this vast socio-political conundrum, pot dispensaries in SF are pretty sweet.