MyDoorsAreOpen
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Aug 20, 2003
- Messages
- 8,549
I once started a thread in T&A about the core difference between city people and country people. A lesson I just had from the school of hard knocks just made me able to put my finger on it. The difference is the degree to which people accept exploitation of others as a fact of daily life.
I'm on a year's probation for possession of marijuana. I'm staying off of it, more to honor a promise I made to my worrisome (but thoroughly awesome) girlfriend than for practical reasons. I know deep down I've got the chops to beat most piss tests. I came home from a week away to find a large jar of my marijuana in my room and a flyer for a local bluegrass music festival. On a whim, I drove to the event -- obeying all traffic rules like a grandmother. I've been to this festival other years and many like it, so I knew what I was doing. Or so I thought.
At first, all my customers treated me with respect, and were more than happy to honor the basic social custom of exchanging money for goods and services rendered, regardless of whether they knew me or whether or not I could beat them up. Eager to bank a few hundred bucks for my upcoming move to NYC, I was also happy to take on as customers these three dudes from an urban area not too far away. They stuck out there among all the laid back, unshaven, rag-wearing majority, who were mostly locals like myself. But hey, as is the custom in the countryside and in the spirit of the festival, I was cool with them because so far they'd given me no reason not to be. That all changed when they took me to a secluded area, took the 1.5oz of weed I'd weighed out for them, then walked three separate ways, each snickering "what money? what shit? I don't know you.", before disappearing. One went so far as to say, "Whatcha gwon' do dog, hit me? Let's get some sticks and I'll help you fuck that other guy up, he's the one behind all this."
Sticks?! Beating people up??!!! I'm sorry, did I take a wrong turn on my way to an EVENT BY AND FOR CHILL PEOPLE PROMOTING PEACE, and end up in Colombia?
Don't tell me I'm naive. I don't need anyone's pity. You see, that would be the proper response if I was a fresh-faced country mouse in the big city, and needed to learn the rules of the streets. But this is MY TURF, "dog", and out here in the boonies, where people look out for each other and depend on the kindness of strangers every day, THAT SHIT DON'T FLY. I picked up a heavy wine bottle and paced the festy grounds for at least one furious hour looking for those crooks, and they better thank the spirits of their fallen homies I never spotted the backs of one of their skulls.
I am not a violent person. But take advantage of my good nature or play me for a sucker, and I just might flip on you. I grew that high quality pot with my own two hands, never gouged prices or underfilled bags, and openly told my customers I was using this to pay for my education.
A curse upon those three fuckers and the sorry, burnt-out city they're from. May they space on something really important while high on my weed, and cough their fucking lungs out inhaling it. May they get pulled over and arrested and given an unfairly harsh sentence. And lastly, may they never. ever. find their way back to my area and its harmless stoner inhabitants.
I will never again sell to anyone who's not a local, and I sure as hell will never sell in a place where I'M not a local. I encourage you all to do the same.
P.S. This incident alone has made me seriously reconsider moving to New York City.
I'm on a year's probation for possession of marijuana. I'm staying off of it, more to honor a promise I made to my worrisome (but thoroughly awesome) girlfriend than for practical reasons. I know deep down I've got the chops to beat most piss tests. I came home from a week away to find a large jar of my marijuana in my room and a flyer for a local bluegrass music festival. On a whim, I drove to the event -- obeying all traffic rules like a grandmother. I've been to this festival other years and many like it, so I knew what I was doing. Or so I thought.
At first, all my customers treated me with respect, and were more than happy to honor the basic social custom of exchanging money for goods and services rendered, regardless of whether they knew me or whether or not I could beat them up. Eager to bank a few hundred bucks for my upcoming move to NYC, I was also happy to take on as customers these three dudes from an urban area not too far away. They stuck out there among all the laid back, unshaven, rag-wearing majority, who were mostly locals like myself. But hey, as is the custom in the countryside and in the spirit of the festival, I was cool with them because so far they'd given me no reason not to be. That all changed when they took me to a secluded area, took the 1.5oz of weed I'd weighed out for them, then walked three separate ways, each snickering "what money? what shit? I don't know you.", before disappearing. One went so far as to say, "Whatcha gwon' do dog, hit me? Let's get some sticks and I'll help you fuck that other guy up, he's the one behind all this."
Sticks?! Beating people up??!!! I'm sorry, did I take a wrong turn on my way to an EVENT BY AND FOR CHILL PEOPLE PROMOTING PEACE, and end up in Colombia?Don't tell me I'm naive. I don't need anyone's pity. You see, that would be the proper response if I was a fresh-faced country mouse in the big city, and needed to learn the rules of the streets. But this is MY TURF, "dog", and out here in the boonies, where people look out for each other and depend on the kindness of strangers every day, THAT SHIT DON'T FLY. I picked up a heavy wine bottle and paced the festy grounds for at least one furious hour looking for those crooks, and they better thank the spirits of their fallen homies I never spotted the backs of one of their skulls.
I am not a violent person. But take advantage of my good nature or play me for a sucker, and I just might flip on you. I grew that high quality pot with my own two hands, never gouged prices or underfilled bags, and openly told my customers I was using this to pay for my education.
A curse upon those three fuckers and the sorry, burnt-out city they're from. May they space on something really important while high on my weed, and cough their fucking lungs out inhaling it. May they get pulled over and arrested and given an unfairly harsh sentence. And lastly, may they never. ever. find their way back to my area and its harmless stoner inhabitants.
I will never again sell to anyone who's not a local, and I sure as hell will never sell in a place where I'M not a local. I encourage you all to do the same.
P.S. This incident alone has made me seriously reconsider moving to New York City.
