My name is called by an overweight employee with a ponytail and a pained look that says, “This is not what I wanted with my life.” He starts to lead me to the showroom, but I pause and tell him I'm a first-time patient. He stops, audibly sighs, visibly rolls his eyes and points to a computer, “Fill that out.” He walks away, trailing bad vibes and the scent of disappointment. Jesus, I think, Peace, love and assholes.
When I finish my paperwork, a different gentleman approaches, smiles and asks if I'm ready. Thank Krishna! I don't know if I can handle dealing with Ponytail today.
He stops, audibly sighs, visibly rolls his eyes and points to a computer, “Fill that out.” He walks away, trailing bad vibes and the scent of disappointment.
At the register, I ask about the organic farm I'd read about on their website. Apparently, it's a completely outdoor operation. He lights up and proceeds to tell me all about it, clearly passionate about the subject. As dumb as it sounds, I've yet to see a living cannabis plant in all my years of smoking. So, I decided to take a chance and give him my card. I want to do a story about the farm and would strangle an army of kittens to get a tour. “Possibly,” he says. “We'd have to blindfold you.”
We start to laugh, but get interrupted by Ponytail. He's with a patient. “Well,” he grinds out, “if these two are finished, I can ring you up.”
I shake my 'tender's hand and do my best to pretend I didn't hear. This awful human is definitely going in the column. I'm already coming up with exotic forms of hate speech to apply in healthy portions on my way to the car. “I'll call him 'Ponytail,'” I say out loud on the drive back. I'm bristling by the time I'm home and unsealing a little baggie of Synergy (THC: 22.19%, CBD: 0.28%—$11/gram). The freshness of the flower is staggering. My fingers become gummy after handling it, and it's so moist and fluffy that I start to worry if it will even burn. It does.
Synergy is a powerful sativa, and its effects kick in on the first exhale. It tastes fruity and sweet, and its pleasant, grapey aroma fills the room. I can feel my bad mood lift, and my thoughts stray from revenge and ponytails to more pleasant things. I hop up halfway through the bowl and start doing dishes, humming a song and taking breaks to dry my hands and smoke the rest.
Later, after I finish a gang of chores that I hadn't planned on doing, I sit down and load up some Mr. Nice Guy (THC: 20.75%, CBD: 0.19%—$11/gram), bought in reverence of the great Sir Smoka Lot. This indica smells like turned earth and tastes like fresh-cut grass. Heady and sedating, the cannabis seems to slow time and turn the air around me into liquid. A heavy hunger grips my stomach and I make a trip to the kitchen, shocked at the dense potency of this plant.
Fruit of the Earth's cannabis was the best I've smoked. Ever. But would I recommend going there to everyone? Hardly. It's really only for those with a healthy constitution and strict taste for gambling. You have to be willing to risk leaving with the feeling that you've escaped a hateful dragon with a paper bag full of stolen gold and third-degree burns on your ass (if Ponytail's there, anyway). I wonder if there’s a good strain for treating gambling addiction.