At one point in time, I managed to drive places without a robot telling me where to turn. Before I left the house, I would call ahead and get directions, write them on a piece of paper (with a stylus-like tool known as a “pen”) and then use those directions to get somewhere. Plenty of times, I'd end up in some odd part of town I didn't know existed, my gas needle bouncing off the E, with no clue where I was supposed to be. I remember turning around and going home often enough. Telling someone you missed the appointment because you “couldn't find the damn place” used to be a legitimate excuse.
But no longer, dear reader. Those terrible days of dabbing pigment on walls and trusting the sketchy directions you picked up from the gas station clerk are long over. Most of you reading this probably don't even remember a time when they existed. Ah, life, you just keep on rolling.
So now I'm spoiled, and when Google fails me, I don't know what the hell to do.
Last week, I typed “Natural Rx Los Lunas” into the search bar, and—like so many other times—just blindly followed its instructions like a fattened lemming. An hour later, I was parked in front of a Pizza Hut with a mechanical voice telling me I'd arrived. “No, Google,” I said back. It did not respond.
The dispensary was closing in 10 minutes, so I started calling them in a panic. After seven rings, I gave up and growled. I drove around the block a few more times, looking at each storefront closely and called again. Still no answer.
I swore and turned back toward home, hating God, Google and the clock. The ride home was too nice, though, and the sunset was pretty enough that I forgot to stay mad.
The next day I started all over again. This time I left right after sunrise, and I called beforehand. Another hour south and this time I know I'm in the right place.
“Look for the Arrow Animal Clinic Sign,” the nice voice had said. I was sitting right under it. The Google car's street view photo had shown a weird blue tattoo parlor across the street from a shopping center, and I was looking right at it. I still couldn't find the bastard.
I decided to cruise to the next parking lot for a second time and look closer before I embarrassed myself by calling again for directions. (I considered disguising my voice by pinching my nose and using an accent, but I'm not very good at accents. I figured they probably had caller ID, anyway.)
Sure enough, this time I noticed a green flag with a white plus sign in the parking lot. One of the doors in the shopping center had Natural Rx on the glass, but above it—where one would normally look for a business sign—the marquee was completely blank. I grunted to myself and parked.
Once I was inside, I found plenty of signs. Is that irony? It's funny, at the very least. Some of them were a little off-putting: “No refunds or exchanges,” for example. (My wife was confused by my complaint here, and seemed shocked when I told her that pretty much every dispensary in Albuquerque has a no-questions-asked return policy on their product.)
Nevertheless, the staff's warmth and friendliness pushed away any fantasies I was sporting of stomping around and raising my voice like a jerk. Instead, I just ordered a gram of Overflookies (THC: 22.19%, CBD: unlisted—$11/gram) and a gram of Super Sour Fire OG (THC: 24.04%, CBD: unlisted—$12/gram). I drove north and let bygones be bygones.
At home, I started with the Overflookies, a cross between Overflo and Monster Cookies. This strain was sadly not too fragrant, and the buds were a little crispy, so it was most likely old flower. As I broke it up, I got a slight whiff of copper and Christmas trees. It tasted piney, but was harsh, and quickly gone. There weren't really any effects I could speak of, and the strain was overall a letdown.
I turned instead to the Super Sour Fire OG and noticed how weak the smell was again. But the bud was moist and squishy this time, so I held my judgment. The faint odor of cat piss escaped as I ground the bud down.
At the first hit, I knew I was in love. This hybrid tastes of fruit and diesel and packs a powerful punch. The effects were immediate, and I caught myself giggling like a teenager at the television. The sativa side of Super Sour was uplifting and improved my mood by bounds. The indica side was much more prevalent, though, and I noticed my back and leg muscles losing tension and relaxing. It was an unexpected pleasure and a welcome surprise.
Was it worth the drive, though? Well. I did get to stop for an insanely large order of nachos at a Mexican restaurant called Aliberto's. So there is that.