Confessions of A… weed smoker who turned out fine
Confessions of a is an anonymous column that looks to unearth viewpoints from unique individuals at Massey University. Each week we will give the spotlight to someone new, so If you think you’ve got an interesting story to tell, please get in touch with Editor@massivemagazine.org.nz
Confessions of A… weed smoker who turned out fine
My journey with weed dates back to when I was 15. I was introduced by my family, it wasn’t a taboo subject and I was quickly taught that something being illegal doesn’t make it inherently bad. My uncle was a big-time dope grower in the middle of the Wairarapa, and being family, he was a trustworthy dude to introduce me to the pleasures and pitfalls of cannabis.
Class was in session, and this was total-immersion education. We skipped entry-level joint rolling in favour of a whopping great bong. Etiquette dictated that if you could fill it with smoke, you had to drain it.
As a young adult I was taken to the bush to check his patches, instilling in me the value of knowing your source. He strode through the undergrowth, proudly. Emerging into a clearing, I locked eyes on “the motherland”. Possibly a 5-by-5 patch of dense, aromatic plants in all their glory.
After excelling in school and getting into university, uncle supplied me with pot to sell, like a side hustle. A tinny here, a fid there, mostly to fellow students every bit as diligent as me. I didn’t think of my actions as criminal. I was paying for my education while providing a social service. If I didn’t sell it, someone else would.
In my disgusting first year flat, I habitually got high on my own supply, incinerating pea-sized balls of oily bud in a mini L&P bottle. Boy, did it burn, that thick, hot smoke. My poor lungs paid the price for that one.
One night I got busted by the police, smoking a blunt out back at the club. I flicked it into the gutter, but not quickly enough. “What was that mate?” the officer asked. “Marijuana,” I replied.
Disarmed by my honesty, the officer questioned me briefly before returning to his car to check my identity. I stood waiting worryingly. Ten minutes later he emerged looking very nonchalant about the situation. He told me to hand over what was left and then got on with his day. I assumed this wasn’t his first rodeo, and I also assumed he didn’t think smoking weed, when everyone else was blindly drunk was a big deal.
My flatmate and I smoked pot nearly every day of our final year at Massey. We studied at the Palmy campus and both graduated with A-grade averages. Fast forward to today and we are both successful yo-pro’s thriving in our chosen fields.
Marijuana has been a constant companion throughout my life. It hasn’t taken away my brain cells, all it has is shorted me is a few bucks.
It’s possible to be high functioning while regularly getting high. I’ve picked pot as my poison and pretty much stuck with it, obtaining it from trustworthy sources. My use is moderate, mostly in the company of friends and family. Over the years, most people have accepted my habit, endorsed it even. Don’t try and place weed smokers in the pothead, stoner stereotype.
That’s one of the reasons it didn’t get legalised...