Strangeness developed last night when I ran into my neighbor, M. She normally stays indoors with her little yapping dog and 2 cats, but last night, as I was having my last cigarette before bed, her boyfriend (?) decided to introduce himself to me after mistaking me for M.
Let it be known that I look absolutely nothing like M. She stands at least a foot shorter than I, at least 40 pounds lighter, and is in her late 40’s – early 50’s. Of course, the only light source was about 8’ above and behind me, so I can let the mistake slide.
So the bf comes up to me and introduces himself as R. I chat for a bit pleasantly with him, although he is visibly drunk and keeps answering his cell phone, only to walk away for a minute, then come back. So R decides to get M out on the front stoop to join in on the conversation, which was waning at best. The conversation took a further nosedive when M arrived, as she and R had a tendency to talk over each other and ask me the same questions multiple times. M’s dog, who was happily running about the neighborhood unwatched, appeared and thought it best to jump up on my lap and place little muddy paw kisses all over my pants. This didn’t really bother me, as I know that mud can usually be washed out easily, and I proceeded to attempt an excuse to leave and get to bed, as the night was moving swiftly.
They would have none of that. M and R invited me into M’s house, which just happens to be the last house I lived in. Curiosity killed me, and I followed them into her abode to check out her ideas of décor, which, of course, was horrid. I don’t think I was surprised at all about the absolute clash of everything in her place… this is, as you may remember, the woman who has 2 dead plants on an ugly table on the front stoop.
So we sit and converse just a bit more, when she reaches for a box on her coffee “table” and opens it to reveal a pipe and little plastic sandwich bags all rolled up in a pile. And not empty little sandwich bags, but sandwich bags filled and rolled up into fat green cigars in plastic. Only they weren’t cigars. And I think you know what that means.
I immediately grew uncomfortable, as while I don’t care if people smoke weed, I don’t do it myself, and people who think they can smoke weed in front of a person they hardly know are usually a little off their rocker, or at least not as paranoid as I would be.
I quickly excused myself from the situation and went on with my night. I was, and continue to be creeped out by the whole situation. Would you be?
ahhh, but we have had fun with pot on the rare occasions it has been smoked. we should do that again now that you have a dealer. har.
Posted by: zach at February 27, 2004 1:12 PM