Only at the Festival

At 5:30 in the morning on Sunday, June 1, I was seated outside a tent in the Catskills with my new friends Lisa and Stephanie, ripping on all the dirty hippies roaming the grounds of Mountain Jam. We’d been at it since around 4, and were having a great time for ourselves. There were people in ridiculous hats, people clad in head-to-toe tie dye, and all manner of cracked out human waste. It was almost too easy.

Suddenly, we were accosted by one such hoodie-clad Festival-goer who, after asking for a cigarette, pulled out two small tin cases. “You guys need to buy a piece?” he asked, only somewhat lucid.

We regarded him with silent judgement, and were like, well, not really, but what have you got? Despite our catcalling and unsolicited insults, we were trying to be polite when people stopped by.

“Oh, man, check this out – this shit is DOPE” he exclaimed, pulling an aluminum rectangle out of the case. “You know, like, when you’re driving and you’re trying to get high? And you’re fumbling with the lighter and shit, and you can’t find your bowl, and the wind is all up in your face? This bowl here LIGHTS ITSELF. So like, no problem, you know? You can be driving and getting all high and shit, and it’s like, so easy.”

It struck me as a ludicrous sales pitch.

“I’m selling these to get money for more doses, you know?”

For those unaware of the lingo, doses = acid = LSD. So this guy is selling these self-lighting bowls on the merits of their relative safety for stoned drivers so that he can go buy more acid and trip face. AWESOME.

“No, man, I think we’re all set. Thanks though.” As he walked away, we started in.

“Like, you know when you’re driving on the West Side Highway, and all you really want to do is blow some coke? But you’ve got the windows open and you can’t quite get the line cut? I HAVE THE PERFECT SOLUTION!”

“Yeah, it’s like, you’re trying to shoot up, right, but you just can’t find the vein? And you’re in your car Westbound on the Pike in heavy traffic? OMG, HEROIN DRIP. I’ll make my fortune!!”

I don’t know if he heard us shrieking with laughter as he walked away, but really, I don’t care. That joke will last me for months, easy. Thank you, sketchy bowl salesman, thank YOU.

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