Getting On

The Wait

The waiting is really the hardest part even harder than getting the cash together, harder than working out the dollar to cone ratio. It was bearable if you had a car and none of your dealer’s overly suspicious neighbours called the cops because there was a strange car full of people just parked up. But just sitting there waiting doing nothing, every minute took ten. This I think is compounded by the psychological addiction issues. While going hand in hand the two situations rub up against each other. Every three minutes there would be an exasperated muttering “Come on fuck ya”! There were some choice expletives thrown about as the clock dragged. Even worse was when the driver went in and farted around for however long and then had the audacity to come back stoned!

Bloody Willis

He had a car and was only too happy drive but when the call went up for a foil run his generic reply was “I can put in three dollars and I’ll need petrol money”! This was when you bought a foil, a tinny, twenty dollars for a gram and a half, two if you were lucky. We had one bloke that used to sell it tied to a stick and they on average were nearly always three grams – FOR TWENTY BUCKS! We’d halve them and sell the other half, I funded a three month heroin habit halving his sticks and selling them at the Hurstville Mall. This was long before some tight cunt thought it would be easier just to sell it by the gram (twenty dollars – flat!). I was introduced to this little delight in Melbourne 93. It’s not as though I could go to consumer affairs or some regulatory body. When I first started getting high it was 82 and I was living in Canberra. Glad sandwich bags measured by fingers was the unit of measurement of the time.

Timing

I had a mate Sydney who I used to smoke up with all the time – Neil. It was The Young Ones at his place every Tuesday Night at 9:30. One balmy Sydney evening we were able to score in a Parramatta pub while waiting to see The Radiators. We went straight out to his Telecom van chopped up and got wasted. We could barely talk and our eyes looked like road maps. Time came to leave the van and we slid the door open and the cops were parked next to us. A great waft of smoke rolled out quicker than us! They shook their heads and we carried on having smoked the evidence!

Gemini

One night in Brisbane we waited for a bloke in Carindale for four and a half hours. Five of us crammed inside a fuckin Gemini ready to stab each other for the most trivial of issue. But we also had a couple of blokes that would drop it off at your house. It was a strange balance at the best of times.

Just Shoot Me

Going to score on public transport at any time in any city was a horrible choice when you needed to getonski. It was even worse in the wet or on a blistering hot day. It truly would test the patience of a nun (although i’m not sure that nuns score in inclement weather?) Especially after a three leg trip; train, train, bus – any order all pain! Shit we did Bus Train Manly Ferry in Sydney once!

Playing God

This is a pet hate! Tell me you’ve got nothing and I’ll be on my way but don’t gloat over your ability to hold out “Oh I’ve only got an ounce left and I won’t see Keith until tomorrow. I only want a tinny! Nah mate I don’t wanna run low….” They won’t part with any of their stash but they are always off their trolleys.

Not Home

Turning up and them not being home is another highlight in this game (please note this was all done on landlines and phone boxes, without the benefit of the mobile phone era we now take for granted). Despite the fact you were on the phone to them x minutes earlier with umpteen assurances of it’s sweet mate come over its all cool, I’ll be here all day! Bullshit, cool my arse – a less patient man would kick your back door in, locate and take. This actually happened once in Sydney – dirty hippy told us “yeah I’ll be home” And he wasn’t – his back door lock was violently circumvented to allow easier access to his LSD that was meant for us anyway. Didn’t even feel bad - we walked miles to get to his place! Half an hour after we left we still had miles to go but we were tripping balls - peaking off our rajahs we were. Ended up getting apprehended by Airport security at Kingsford Smith Airport - they said we were trying to hail a plane on the run way - plausible...but I think it was just a shortcut taken that gave little or no thought to the consequences of our actions.

Pinched

There was nothing that put a spring in your step like holding! But the other side of this coin is getting done by the cops after you have just purchased your favourite illegal herb. This in my humble opinion is worse than the waiting – worse than the rain. The arseholes take your gear and charge you for having it and then you have to go to court at a date to be set in the future sometime which will invariably end up with a fine and community service. This is entirely dependent on what you were pinched with and the quantity. Never carry empty bags or a large number of deals – that takes it from Possession to Possess and Supply – harsher penalties and possible jail time! Weed dealing in the eyes of the judicial system is no different to coke or heroin!

Legalities and Borders

Nineties Queensland Drug laws were probably the worst in Australia at the time. I got arrested for having a used bong and a mix with about half a gram – yeah they took it! A thousand dollar fine and a hundred and twenty hours community service. The coppers turned up to conduct a drug raid at our Holland Park residence one evening around dinner time – a housemate was moving at least four to five ounces in foils a week at the time and a disgruntled “client” of his called the police due to a bad deal. Fuckin idiots bought a German Shepherd drug sniffing dog not knowing that I had a two year old female English Bull Terrier. The drug dog was more interested in locating and porking my dog. Bette hated other dogs and she hated cops, I had to lock her up on the veranda while Queensland’s finest squandered tax payers’ dollars in a futile and doomed search – suffice it to say they missed the two ounces hidden under the fridge but found the Orchy bong and mix bowl in my room.

Spin

The addition of tobacco to your recently purchased marijuana. I thought it was a crazy prison thing until it became a crazy weed thing that pretty much spanned the entire country! Normally two tailor made ciggies to a gram but I was known to put three in or four if I was being extra tight. Rollie tobacco will do the trick but it’s a harsh pull. I’m proud to say I’ve been nicotine free for five years so I don’t even use it myself anymore, just can’t roll as many joints but jeez it tastes nice!

Mouldy Leaf

Nothing worse than scoring stuff that hasn’t been dried out properly. This shit was just trimmed leaf (the buds having gone way earlier). We had to drive from Ferntree Gully to Broadmeadows (google it!) to buy a Q (Quarter Ounce - Seven Grams). It was all that was available going into a dry (No weed anywhere at all! – the rise in hydro setups has made this little joy almost obsolete). It was impossible to pull a cone of this shit and not chuck. I grammed the other six and sold them all the next day, just passing on the misery and it’s not as though I forced them to buy the shit. People will smoke toe nail clippings if it’s been dry long enough.

Railway Stations

Fraught with multiple dangers ranging from plainclothes police, getting rolled for your twenty to getting bum rushed in the deal and finding you’ve only got half a jingle. Oh yeah and possibly more waiting.

The Rips

I got ripped off round the corner from my house selling an ounce to a friend of a friend of a friend. I had barely pulled the bizzo out of my jacket and the little prick snatched it and took off like Usain Bolt on the performance enhancers. The larger the weight the higher the chances are of getting rolled. I know a girl and her boyfriend who lined up a huge deal – was supposed to be some boutique bud from overseas they got beaten up in a McDonalds carpark and had thousands stolen. What I consider to be the worst type of rip is giving someone credit and never seeing them again. You do the right thing only to have this fragile trust thrown in your face!

Quilkers

I hope you’re reading this Gary! Just another name for a water pipe. Archaic, Silly and Regional

In Closing

I’m pretty certain I could pull tales and anecdotes about this and other similar or related topics out of my arse all day. Someone once said to write about what you know and it will almost write itself. This has proven to be the case and my next topic will either be shoplifting nudie magazines, biscuits I like taken off the market or the lack of adequate theft prevention in cars prior to 1986.