We didn’t bother to smoke on the way to the restaurant. It was so close I barely had enough time to bite off the nail I had on my index finger. Certainly there wasn’t nearly enough time for us to smoke too. So before we left we burned it down one more time like we were Cheech and Chong. All we had to do to mask our skunky smell was take a few shots of cologne right before we left. We figured it would be best to not stink up an entire restaurant on a Tuesday night.

We walked into the restaurant and saw only two other parties sitting near our tale. It felt like we were walking through this library and no one was allowed to talk louder than thirty decibels. There was this one couple seated at the corner looking like they were having the worst time ever on their date. Or I should say at least the guy didn’t look like he was having the best time sitting next to this lady on the same side of the booth.

The other table was full with a family of eight, three generations of kin, ranging from a Great Depression survivor grandma to the youngest who seemed like this high schooler struggling with our modern depression. A family outing where the most exciting conversation is about starting calculus in math! I heard one of their conversations start with; “How was your day, how’s school going for you?” I was able to gather all this within the first five or ten minutes of us being there. Their conversations were non-existent and seemed to be dying out until the waiter came over to take our order.

Their lame and unenthusiastic conversations that these tables were having quickly transformed into some more as soon as they smelt us in the room. We thought we took every precaution to mask our scent and didn’t reek like we typically do, but to those ignorant noses that were around us that night, we must have turned that place into a Cypress Hill concert to them.

It seemed to spark something in the couple next to us and they turned those frowns upside down. It was like our aroma took them back to better their times and they both smiled at each other for the first time all night. The family behind us on the other hand despised not just our fragrance but weed entirely. We enjoyed our dinner higher than a Giraffe’s Ass, stuffing our faces with gourmet steak,, while listening to this grandma and mother “educate” their kids on how bad “ the weed” is for you.

I enjoyed listening to their banter. The naysayers always have some interesting theories on the effect it may have on us but truthfully I just felt bad for those kids that had to sit there and listen to this rant as if they haven’t already heard it a million times already. Are these parents so naive that they think their kids don’t even know what cannabis is? The only time I had an urge to butt into their conversation was when the mother mentioned something about this thirty four percent thc cannabis.

I didn’t care what example she was hoping to set for her kids or whatever movies she said little Johnny spent the whole day on the couch watching. All I wanted to know was where the hell was she finding such pure cannabis out here on the streets. Sure yeah I get it maybe they aren’t spokesmans for weed but I’m willing to bet my last dollar that they love money just as much as the next guy does. It took everything in me not to ask them to be my new plug. Think about all the Benjamins we could be making.