So a couple of months ago, in my local newspaper I weighed in on the notion that having a legal marijuana dispensary in our towns was not a healthy idea. Having said that…I still feel the same way. But recently I did have the opportunity to experience a New Jersey dispensary establishment. For the last two decades I’ve battled insomnia. I’ve tried just about every possible over the counter, under the counter, script, supplement and technical journal available. Nothing helps. So when a friend of a friend of a friend (could I be more vague) mentioned that they had the same insomnia symptoms that I was experiencing (and for those that are not aware, with insomnia, there is no “one size fits all” experience.) and they tried the legally available mellow indica strain of marijuana in a gummy lozenge form, and it worked like a charm, I was intrigued - like a lot of intrigue. But at the same time there was this voice in my head, not whispering to me, but speaking to me as if it was my father reading me the riot act. Something along the lines of, “Are you really going to do this!?! What kind of example are you setting? And if your grandfather and I were still alive, we’d take you behind the wood shed so you’d understand that just thinking such thoughts is not acceptable behavior.”
I shake off Dad and Grandpa. I’m in self-preservation mode. At this point if a carnival came to town and the medicine man had an elixir, I’d buy it. So I gather up all of the anti-insomnia product information I need – I keep telling myself I’m not doing anything wrong, and pump the location of the establishment into Mapquest (and Yes, Mapquest still exists). The dispensary is about an hour south of our towns. My GPS system takes me on a back roads trip that would challenge Lewis & Clark.
I wind up using my “Fast & Furious” driving skills to avoid missing the driveway of the dispensary that sits on an extremely busy section of Route 1. The building is a single story and looks to be brand new. Medical use customers get to park in the front parking lot. Recreational use customers, my club, but I challenge that notion, we The Unwashed, park in the back. Once I walk through the front door, any preconceived notion of what the experience might be like dissolve. I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting, maybe a laid back Amsterdam coffee house lounge environment where concession people with product in tow walk around as if they’re at a ballgame selling hotdogs? It was not like that at all. The best way I can describe it is, a very clean, almost antiseptic environment where the operation has been set up and managed by efficiency experts from the Wharton School of Business. When you walk into the lobby, you need to show a valid ID, proving your age. They looked at me, and as I fumble for my driver’s license they simply waved me in. Slightly offended, I walked through the next set of doors. In this room there are a number of stanchions and ropes as if you’re on line waiting to get into the hottest Avengers movie on day one of release. At the end of the maze of ropes is a gatekeeper, a pleasant helpful person, but no nonsense. It’s this person’s job to allow you to approach a four-foot high counter that’s about 30 feet long. There are about dozen people standing behind the counter who take your order and walk back behind a wall and reappear with your product. Luckily I had scribbled on a small piece of paper exactly what I wanted and the person was extremely efficient about checking me out. I’m not exactly sure what my experience would have been like if I had sauntered up to the counter and had said something like, “Well, what are we recommending today?” Or “What are this week’s sale items?” It was very much a “Know what you want, ask for it, we’ll bring it to you, and get out of our store…with a smile on our faces.” (Naturally I paid in cash because I still had 50 years of deeply ingrained knowledge that could not be erased by some trustworthy politicians telling me its okay now. Oxymoron?)
So I leave the dispensary with my product in a bag, which I place in the trunk of my car. I decide to drive to Stockton, NJ to a Craft Brewery owned by an ex-coworker. He’s a great guy who made the bold move two years ago to quit his job and devote all his time to making very good beer. I thought that since I was in the area, why not stop by and pick up some beer and put it in a cooler in my trunk…right next to my other purchase. Naturally for my 50 minute ride home, I had done nothing wrong, but still felt like I was on an episode of Chicago PD, and I wasn’t one of the good guys.
Final thoughts, the jury is still out on my gummies. They might be helping some, but a significant influence on sleep is: 1) Am I drinking liquids past 7:30PM, 2) Do I think I’m still 35 and can have a large meal that starts at 7:30PM, and 3) Do I think I’m going to get away with having caffeine past Noon. Folks, until that pill is discovered that turns back our bio-clock, grin and bare it. And when you get past the irritation, just for a moment, be Thankful.
