The first time I got high is not the same story as the first time I smoked weed, though I will share both of these stories together in this post. Growing up in Las Vegas, as a little skater punk with older siblings, I knew at a fairly young age what marijuana was. My family moved from southern California to Vegas during my last year of elementary school; within less than a year, I had been actively participating in cannabis culture.
Typically, during visits between Las Vegas and southern California, one of my parents would drive the 4 to 5 hour trip. However, my older brother had recently bought his first car, a green Ford Escort LX 3 door Sedan, so I rode with him. I was staying with family in Orange County, while he was visiting friends in San Diego; one of them drove back with us to Vegas.
It was on that particular road trip through the Mojave Desert, on Interstate 95, the first time I got high.
We were well past the traffic of Southern California, as it was dark by the time we smoked. My brother and his friend who are 5 years older than me, were sitting in the front debating among themselves, to whether I’d be cool or not.
It was if they thought I could not hear them or something. I could hear everything in that little car. As the kid brother, I emulated their every move. Even though I had the entire back row to myself, I sat at the edge of the bench; to be as close to them as possible.
I interrupted their private conversation by telling them that I had already had smoked weed before. They were a bit shocked, yet curious. They made me explain myself to make sure I was not full of shit and lying to look cool. I told them that my first attempt at smoking was with my friend’s mom.
It was one of those situations where, if someone is going to show you it might as well be me.
This lady was the stereotypical crazy Vegas broad, a character straight out of the movie Casino or something. A bleach blonde who wore her hair with half a can of hair spray; she had shiny clothes and loud jewelry. Literally, you could hear her coming down the hallway with her multiple bracelets jingling.
Her father, my buddy’s grandpa, was a big shot who owned car dealerships. They were Italian New Yorkers, patrons of Las Vegas who had lived in the city longer than anyone else I knew. Where ever we would go, they seemed to know people, or I should say that everybody knew them. This family seemed to own the town.
I rarely saw the husband. He worked at the casinos and was never home. With his mom left in charge, we had the house to ourselves and could do whatever we wanted.
My best friend was a rich chubby only child; meaning that I tagged along with him and the family doing a bunch of cool shit. The entertainment available for tourists in Las Vegas is fairly attainable and affordable for locals. With my buddies ‘family connections, we enjoyed the city to the fullest.
In the car, I proceeded to describe to my brother and his friend the red ceramic handgrip bong that my bf’s mom owned. I told them how hard it made me cough and that I did not like it. Instead of blowing out smoke, it was more me hacking up spit halfway across the room.
I must have hit it wrong, or maybe, because it was my first time, but I did not feel the affects.
A few months passed since the experience with my buddy and his mom.This time the situation was different. I felt much more comfortable being that the three of us were alone in the car.
Our friend brought some dank southern California buds back to Vegas. He also carried the sweetest color changing, double blown glass Sherlock Holmes pipe,in a little black padded pouch.
I was so eager for them to allow me to try it.
Looking back, it was probably a case of them wanting to smoke and figured if I smoked too, then I would not be able to say anything,
While riding shotgun, he reached across his shoulder to face me, and in a mocking tone he said,
“Make sure that you don’t blow into the pipe, dickweed.”
He gave my brother a look as if to ask him, ‘Are you sure? – You don’t want him to blow the cherry in your new car and you definitely don’t want his ass to tell your mom.
In cannabis culture, smoking for the first time is a rite of passage, especially as a youngster. It was a bonding experience; something we shared and kept between us.
With their approval, I bent forward between the seats, grabbed the pipe while he held the lighter and instructed me when to start and stop sucking.
To this day, I still use the technique that I learned the first time I got high to make sure to never blow into the pipe.
Before taking a hit, prepare yourself by first inhaling deeply through your mouth, then exhale completely through your nose. After exhaling everything, you will be ready to inhale again through your mouth.
When hitting a bong or pipe that has an air chamber or ‘carb’ inhale slowly at the beginning, build up pressure, then finish strong by clearing all of the smoke.
Compared to others, I probably started earlier in life than most. However, from where I come from it was not unheard of, as many of those stoners are following this very blog.
Americans, especially those from the West Coast, tend to smoke more heavily than other cultures. That’s just how we roll!
I am not sure if I hit the Sherlock more than once, I probably did just to make sure that I got a good one, but I recall that for the first time during the entire car ride my shoulders touched the backrest.The herb helped me with my restlessness and fidgeting.
Buried in the back seat, I stared out the solid glass hatch back window into the desert night sky. I don’t know how many of you have ever seen the desert sky at night before?
As an adolescent I could never sit still, nor shut up. Physically, my energy was controlled by playing recreational and practicing martial arts, however mentally it was as if I was jumping off the walls. In school I excelled in some classes, while others I was behind. My mind was all over the place. I was going through a maturing phase, still getting used to my new environment.
When I got high, I was able to contemplate what had transpired over the past year, as my family uprooted to another state. It made me considered all of those affected by the move, not just myself. Before, I only thought about how my life was different, now I was thinking about how the circumstances had changed for all of us; including my brother’s best friend who’s life was also changed by us moving.
I was mature enough to know that we were all facing our own issues, but during the road trip it had really sunk in. This was the first I was ‘visiting’ California. That was weird, because Vegas was always the vacation spot, now it was home.
I was excited to start a new chapter in my life. While high, I came up with an elaborate plan of how awesome my new life was going to be. It was an epiphanic moment where I figured out everything I was destined to do.
Too bad I was stoned, and forgot what it was.
A short clip from the movie ‘Animal House’ (1:50) – Narrated for blind people
I encourage the use of cannabis, so heavily due to the humbling effect it has on society. Unlike liquor, which causes people to be selfish and narrowed minded; Cannabis helps paints a bigger picture, revealing that we are each a little piece of it.