Baked Goods: What Matters Most

A Guide To Free Stuff On Your Birthday

Joshua Lee
3 min read
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My birthday is one of my least favorite days. I spend most of it trying to keep anyone from finding out. They always do, though. And then the phone calls start (thankfully, I was smart enough to hide it from Facebook this year), the well wishes, the plans. It’s the one day of the year dedicated to reminding us of our mortality, of the quickly closing gap between us and our death, and we spend it rushing around in a manic flurry of fun, fun, fun. All I wanted for my birthday this year was a giant pause button that I could push for just a few hours of quiet. Peace.

But no such luck for me. I was to spend the whole day driving across Albuquerque, visiting most of the dispensaries in town to pick up my birthday promos. For work. (Yes, dear reader. That suspicion working up inside of you is correct. I was being a lousy, no-good, complaining asshole. Apparently, that’s my version of the middle-aged lady at Chili’s wearing a child’s toy tiara and screaming, “It’s my birthday!” over the music.) Yes. I want to grumble and hide and have my wife coo at me like the horse whisperer while I flare my nostrils. That’s my yearly birthday wish.

But the frigging universe wouldn’t even give me that.

I huffed and puffed my way into the Verdes Foundation’s West Side location. “Y’all do those birthday things, yeah?” The ‘tender froze. The corners of his mouth popped into a genuine smile. “Happy birthday, man,” he said. “Have you gone to all the other stores, yet?” His eyes flashed.

“That’s what I’m doing now,” I said. I was about to say some nasty followup but his excitement got the better of him.

His eyes were maybe bulging a little when he interrupted. “Aw, I
wish it was my birthday. You’re going to get so much free stuff!” He stepped back and swept his arm toward the menu. “You can have a gram of anything up there, on the house.”

I was trying my damnedest to frown. But it wasn’t working. I picked out
Skunk #1 (THC: 23.01%, CBD: 0.02%—$11.50/gram usually), accepted the bag when it came, and shook his hand. I didn’t know what else to do.

I got back in the car, looked at my hand-drawn map of places with birthday promos and probably said something like, “Holy moly,” or “What the what?”

Cue Prokofiev’s
Love For Three Oranges”.

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