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I had the rare pleasure to enjoy some of mother nature's (or at least the local hydro grower's) best Mary Jane with a couple of our brave and abused troops last week. Sit back and I will set the scene.
The fare was a simple bar room pick-up; Two men in their twenties and a friendly and attractive young woman whose mood had obviously been greatly enhanced by whatever tasty beverages the guys had been feeding her that evening.
I have for years and continue to wear my favorite "hippy" cologne from my Grateful Dead following days, the great and awesome scent of patchoulli oil. An acquired fragrance to be sure but apparently Mrs. S has acquired it and it does seem to get me friendly comments, and therefore friendlier tips, from my female and fellow fried patrons.
The powerful and herby aroma people catch when they first enter my cab often results in such exchanges as the one I am about to relate.
The door opens. The ride begins.
The girl and her obvious companion sat in the back, the far back seats of my van in fact, and she instantly took a position of lounging across his lap. Their companion, less interested in the romantic goings on in the back took shotgun next to me.
A jovial enough crowd thankfully, at a late hour when some of my customers are only one step removed from being the very spawn of hell, Lucifer himself. I thanked the Gods of transportation for this. Any fare at 2AM that doesn't involve violence or projectile vomiting is a blessing.
"Smells like someone's been smoking herb in here", said my shotgun seat customer as soon as he entered.
"Nope, no ones been smoking in here, it's probably my patchoulli oil you smell."
"So, no one has smoked pot in this cab tonight?"
"No sir I swear. You're allowed to smoke it in here but nobody has yet." Heads can smell our own, I knew I was safe in revealing this.
"Hey, (unremembered name of second male passenger) this cab driver says we can smoke pot in here you still have any left?"
The second male took a short break from nearly undressing his female companion in my back seat and agreed that he did but possessed nothing to smoke it with. As a believer in giving good customer service I immediately volunteered a solution to the dilemma.
"Don't worry folks the cab driver has a bowl (pipe for you squares out there)B-)"
"No fucking way!" my shotgun seat sidekick exclaimed eagerly, "you have a bowl?"
"Of course", my smart ass said, "it's part of the standard cabbie kit we bring with us on the road"
Laughter from all corners of the cab on this joke as I brought out the implement of our destruction and the small bud of green and sticky I had with me. My brothers and sister in decadence also produced a satchel but I waved it away insisting it was my treat.
Several puffs and minutes later I learned my passengers status as two of our troops and I indicated I was honored to be breaking buds with our men in uniform. I also learned right after that comment and after asking them how they could get away with smoking that they were both soon NOT going to be in uniform any longer.
It seems they were in the process of being ejected from the army on, wait for it, drug charges of some unrevealed nature. I expressed my sympathy of their plight but they didn't seem to mind and I agreed it might be a good time not to be in the army right now.
The soon to be former troop next to me told me how he had been "blown up" (a pretty standard term for being wounded in Iraq) sixteen times, which I prayed for his sake was hyperbole, and that after two tours he had definitely had enough of war. As his companion was more involved in nearly creating a more interesting taxi story with his female friend the smoking session died off to me and my shotgun seat smoking soldier.
Stoned we were and continued to chat about the war. I got brave and asked the blunt question that I have of a few of them.
"Can we win this or is it just a complete cluster fuck"
Just as many before my new friends both voted for cluster fuck and at least one more vote of confidence in our eventually bombing the shit out of Iran. I wished them well and told them they should be thankful that a dishonorable discharge is the worst thing that happened to them in the army. They agreed and through bloodshot eyes thanked me for the attitude alteration. The ride ends. Always tip your cabbie.
Shadow out.
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