Our state legalized both, this last election cycle. The laws behind gay marriage made sense, but many of us didn’t understand what legalizing recreational pot really meant, until now.
Louie and Michael pulled up in an antique Rolls Royce, wearing matching outfits inspired by Leonardo DiCaprio’s character in the film Inception. Their jackets were soft black and ran down to their knees, with a white kimono and stitched-in cummerbund, beneath.
Inside, there were Kabuki dancers and koto musicians, and a view of the water facing West from Magnolia: downtown Seattle, the mountains, hi-rail cranes, ferris wheel, everything turning pink with the sun.
During the ceremony passersby stopped to look, including a couple girls about our kids’ age watching from beneath a willow tree; many of us sat and cried and cheered, including Michael’s 96 year-old dad, in the front row.
By my work, the first retail pot shop is now open. There’s only one small sign, but there’s always a line wrapped around the corner and as far as you can imagine, leading into the shadows of the alleyway and the recycling center, which smells bad if the wind’s blowing your direction.
On Friday I thought I’d go there, to shop. I had some time to kill after work, and the thought of going there was arousing, like the first time I bought a dirty magazine. A Nirvana song came on the radio, and it felt gritty.
But when I drove by the line was too long, and all the people standing there looked like losers, with bad posture and blank expressions, slumped there like bums. I couldn’t imagine standing there, being seen in that line, making small talk, and what would we talk about? Is this your first time? Wow…can you believe it?
They only let a few people in the store at a time but they leave the front door open, so you can see a bit of what’s going on, inside. They have jewel cases with people behind them on stools, and they’re talking about what’s beneath the glass, the different varieties, details of the THC count, where it was grown, price per ounce.
On our way to the wedding we missed our turn and had to pull into the Whole Foods parking lot, where signs were staked in the grass saying NO HEMPFEST PARKING. And then it became clear, why the unusual volume of unusual looking people, crawling all over the sidewalk in their tattoos and beards.
Advertising has started on billboards now, showcasing outdoorsy types facing the sunset — quite fit looking, like an REI ad, the romantic way Pacific Northwesterners fancy ourselves — and it’s hard to tell what they’re advertising, yet the typeface at the bottom says Cannabis Products.
By my work there’s a storefront called Magical Butter. They have a stretch limo and a spray-painted bus that’s parked in the alley 24/7. This is a line of edibles; the slogan is “Treat to Eat.” And there’s something going on here, but you don’t know what it is, do you…?
We helped clean up at the end of the wedding and got invited to an after-party, on the rooftop terrace at their hotel, in the Pike Place market. There was a couple off to the side having an intimate moment, and then about 25 of us arrived all at once with our boxes of wine, Mount Gay rum, portable speakers, and ABBA. I caught a Goth girl from the wedding taking my picture with her phone and she looked embarrassed and said you just looked so nice, like the Great Gatsby.
Dawn and I got back to the safety of the suburbs at 1 AM and decided to go to the grocery store for chips because we can, it never closes.
I glided through the automatic doors to the aisle with the chips and chocolates, picked some out, paid for it at the U-Scan with my debit card and walked right out, nary a soul to be seen.