One of my connections was a chronic pain patient, personal grower, and veteran who wanted to trade pot for sex. When I said no, he told me to fuck off and refused to do business with me.
Another dude said he was also a chronic pain patient, personal grower, and veteran, but he wanted the same thing the first guy wanted.
There was a grower who said he supplied a handful of dispensaries in Albuquerque, but when I told him I wasn’t interested in dating, he disappeared.
There was the woman who seemed to have no problem stringing me along for days, only to finally reveal that she didn’t have anything.
Then there was the traveling couple who asked me to meet them in the middle of the night and never showed up.
Finally, there was the Donald Drumpf supporter, who told me he used some of his 401(k) funds to invest in gold, allegedly located in a German vault. Also a chronic pain patient, he went on and on about the great bud he had access to, but as it turns out, that was just talk. He wanted to charge me $22/gram for average bud and I told him to forget it — even the dispensaries can’t get away with charging that ridiculous price. He also brought over some Mexican brick weed, which I had never tried before (and never will again).
I could go on (and on), but even though the stories are sometimes different, the results are always the same — disappointment and anger.
I want to thank the DEA for causing me so much misery. But I also have to thank those pain patients who refuse to help other pain patients — and remind them that karma is a bitch.
Edit 5/19/2016: As it was embarrassingly pointed out to me, the Trump supporter wasn’t going to charge me $22/gram — I miscalculated because my head hurts. However, this wasn’t the only problem, so I’ll leave it at that.