hiding in plain sight: April 2009

Monday, April 13, 2009

Nirvana

I went to the doctor the other day. It took me a while to find her. I wandered around the Mission for about an hour, looking for the address a friend had given me. It turned out to be a barred door, with security camera and intercom. Someone buzzed me in.

In the waiting room at the top of the stairs there were two types of people: stoners from central casting, and DEA agents, maybe from central casting, maybe not. I was terrified. When the doctor came in, she was wearing large sunglasses, and the only question she asked me in the time I was there was whether I would mind if she kept them on. I told her that would be fine. We chatted for a while and she thanked me for coming.

Back out in the waiting room they handed me an envelope, in which were three copies of a letter from my doctor to the world saying that marijuana is medically indicated. For me, of course. The guy who gave me the envelope said to take it to a dispensary. I asked with a grin if he knew where I could find one. He said he couldn’t talk about that. When I asked him again, a little incredulous, he patiently repeated that he couldn’t talk about it. Get an SF Weekly, he said.

I got an SF Weekly, and sure enough it was full of ads for dispensaries. I picked one and went there. They checked my letter at the door and let me in. There was a bar with stools, shelves and shelves of large glass bottles, and a chalk board listing the specials, with prices. A couple of sleepy looking women were tending the bar. I bought an eighth of OG Kush, one of Train Wreck and another of Silver Haze, and made my escape.

California! It's like heaven.