hot Box Hero by Anonymous
I’m sitting at a hotel listening to an old gay guy babble about how I should love my coworker more tomorrow than I did the day before. And I wonder to myself, if my coworker was marijuana would I love it more than I did the day before? Will 2020 be as lifted as 2019?
2019 was full of high blunders as the Hot Box Hero navigated the atmosphere of legalized weed in Anchorage, Alaska. Whether it was taking a piss test for a job, or getting pulled over for roaches and having to take the OUI test in the Title Wave parking lot, everyday in 2019 I was high as shit trying to function as a productive member of society. I think I’ve locked my keys in my car more than ten times coming out of a hot box. I’ve, for sure, had days where all I did was smoke backwoods and I had other days where all I did was hit dabs. Okay, maybe I made a beat here and there but most of the time I was spending mobbin’ or smokin’ yadadamean!?!
The piss test was a classic example of how I hard I got to go as a pot smoker to be a working class citizen. I prepare by setting up a time where a friend of mine who doesn’t smoke can get off work to pee for me. Since the urine has to keep temperature, I like to heat up the container I use to transport the subject to the testing facility. That being said, I have a twenty-minute window to get from the bathroom of the clean piss to the place where the test will be administered. I threw on a tall tee and a pair of 42 x 42 corduroy pants. This gave me the room to conceal the secret sample. The container full of pee was duct taped to my leg and I was off to the races. I needed this job, for real. I’m tired of having to go the extra mile to get an entry level job because I smoke pot. If I drank beer, it would be a different story. The comparison of vices isn’t as parallel to alcohol as it is to tobacco, which if I smoked I would get breaks at work. Could you imagine if I could get blunt breaks at work, wouldn’t be much different other than odor and eye presentation. All the other shit is mental with pot — you can choose to handle it or let it handle you. It’s all in the eye of the beholder, right?
Anyways, I pull up to the piss test spot. I had smashed over there in the blazer and pulled up heavy into the parking spot. I walk into the testing facility and the first thing I notice is a giant wet spot on my butt. I’m like, “Fuck, I got to play this smooth.” I walk to the counter, no one is behind me. “Good, I’ll just keep everybody in front of me,” I thought. Mind you, I’m looking like something out of a 1997 JNCO Jeans advertisement, tall black tee on with the Giants fitted. Lets just say your boy is a smooth criminal. I don’t how much writing this piece is going to help that reputation, but a college graduate got an entry level job based on his ability to finesse a test. Looks like college taught me something.
On the way to that same job interview, I was pulled over for a seat belt headed down the west end of northern lights. Just to be blunt, my car smells packed the fuck out. The day before my interview I had been rolling up moon rocks like my name was Kurupt. My eyes were still red as I went to my parents house to pick some clothes up and head back to my house to get ready for this important interview. So I pull into the title wave bookstore parking lot and proceed to talk to the police officer. He commented on the smell which I told him was from a previous day. The cop proceeded to put me through a OUI field test. Now this is where this article goes from joking around to a political outburst. What the fuck is that test based on? They had me counting backwards, looking in the sky, standing on one foot — all kinds of fuck shit. I could feel the highness in my eyes when the policeman put his pen in my face and made me not take my eyes off it. But somehow, some way the police officer let me off with a seatbelt ticket and a ticket for all the roaches in my car. If you are transporting weed in your car there are actually rules. There are rules and regulations in this legalized weed world that make no sense. They are based on a stigma or perception that weed is the equivalent to alcohol, which is not true. Anyways, once again the Hot Box Hero slid again. I was so shook up about the situation I wanted to cry, but instead I rolled up all the roaches I just got a four hundred dollar ticket for and smoked them to the face in a roach blunt. Then I proceeded to the interview where amazingly enough, they ate out of my hand, squinty eyes and all.
I guess the moral of the story is: it’s a sacrifice to smoke even if it is legal. The payoff is a red pill, blue pill situation. Once you smoke weed and you realize you can escape all this bullshit with one hit of some green, you’re not going back to the square life. I see many try to substitute IPA’s for their stoner lifestyle, only to find themselves drunk as shit making irrational decisions. There is something Zen about smoking weed. It’s a meditation when I find myself in my car, headphones on facing a fat blunt. And honestly, I don’t know if I’d trade that for a decent salary or a normal lifestyle where I wasn’t losing my keys constantly and was more motivated. The mental clarity that I achieve through smoking weed is priceless. Every time at the end of the year I’m always pressed with the decision of should I continue to smoke weed. It kills my pockets financially and provides a crutch for my depression. The pros and cons are always weighted when I make decisions and everytime the pros of smoking pot prevail.
Last year, I had make the resolution to quit smoking weed in 2019. Two days into 2019 my buddy called me looking for some mushrooms. Five grams of shrooms later and I was fucking blasted off into outerspace. I had to smoke a blunt. Does that make me a weak-minded individual because I do not have the discipline to stick with a decision I said I was going to make for myself? I’m not sure, but I do know that when you live in Anchorage, Alaska your going to be faced with this same decision. Will I let the darkness affect me? Am I bored to the point of smoking my life away?
Yes. So 2019, it was nice while it lasted. Time drifted away like the white smoke coming out of my black blazer. And like that, we (me and 2019) are both gone in the mist.