Hollywood Reefer
Posted on January 14, 2009
“What do you do for a living?” she asks, in that droll, I-don’t-really-give-a-fuck way that sums up Hollywood so well.There are many ways that I could answer. I could say I’m a writer, flip a coin on whether or not she reads. Or tell her I work in medical supplies, if I want to kill the conversation. Or break it down legally: I’m the director of a licensed California non-profit, a caregiver to medical marijuana patients in accordance with state law. But often, should it get to the point where I choose to tell the humdrum truth, and it doesn’t happen everyday, I’ll say it softly, almost shrugging, as if my job is housed within parenthesis.(I run a marijuana delivery service.)Though it doesn’t matter how I say it—whether it’s a whisper or full-throated shout, the aftereffect is always the same: Heads square themselves on necks, as miniature bombs go off in both eyes, mouths working at every angle, as they try to wrap their heads around the news that I’ve just broken.It usually takes a minute or two before I am deluged with questions. How did I get into it? Is it really legal? Am I scared when I go places that I’ve never been before? Scared I’ll be arrested, or that somebody will rob me, or god forbid something worse?It’s awesome to be reminded of all your catastrophic scenarios while out for a quiet evening with friends, trying to be a regular joe. But the truth is—of course, I’m afraid. Though that probably isn’t the operative word. A better one would be aware. I’m aware of what could happen. I’ve heard stories ending badly, and in terms of handling such awareness, at least a journalism background offers the sense that I’ve been tested before. Am I out of my depth? Most likely. But no more than when the gunman opened fire in the Capitol, or the starlet tried to use me to get back at her cheating boyfriend. As a reporter, you learn to think on your feet. To watch and then work around the long knives. I wanted to bring this skill to deliveries, control borne out of concentration, if for no other reason than merely believing I still held some small hand in my destiny.When going places I haven’t been, I’m aware of the shadows that mark my surroundings. I look at the houses and figures wandering the streets. I check my mirrors to see if the cars behind me look familiar; whether they’ve followed a little too long. I haven’t canceled a delivery yet, but I find myself on many voyages searching for reasons to do so. More than most jobs, deliveries require a measure of instinct, the ability to separate very real threats from the darker corners of imagination.And trust me, at night when you’re alone, and you’re delivering marijuana to an absolute stranger—even medical marijuana to a verified patient—the world will descend into shades of sinister. Even ice cream trucks can seem ominous in sketchy neighborhoods at night, their playful songs tired and hollow, as a steel-eyed driver ogles you like a specter who doesn’t belong.This is the world that I presently inhabit, for better or worse. One morning, I’m delivering to a terminal cancer patient. The next night, I’m in a bad neighborhood, circling the block. When something is legal, but at the same time illegal, you never know what you’re going to get. Whether your next delivery is to a house of stoned surfers, or a woman beaten to an inch of her life, now blind and in a wheelchair.I’m a medical marijuana caregiver, and in the coming months, I’ll use this space to paint a picture of exactly what that means. All while giving you a front row seat to the in’s and out’s of medical marijuana delivery in Los Angeles.What do I do for a living? I try to help people. If only life was so simple.Hollywood Reefer is Dann’s medical marijuana delivery driver blog. New entries coming soon.
Artists Collective is Walkabout Jones’ social action project, a medical marijuana non-profit that will dedicate a considerable percentage of proceeds toward creating opportunity grants for deserving artists. For more information about Artists Collective, go to www.artistsforaccess.org
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I always hated that question when I lived in LA. You’re damned if you answer it honestly. You’re damned if you don’t. Sounds like you’re becoming immersed, again, in LaLaLand, and for that, I’m jealous and glad I’m gone all at once.
I never heard of marijuana delivery men and this post was very eye opening in an interesting way. Good luck.