Some Things I Did for Money (Kindle Single) by Stephanie Georgopulos

Author:Stephanie Georgopulos [Georgopulos, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-02-03T06:00:00+00:00

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I was convinced that this time would be different. For one thing, Shannon didn’t smoke, which would force me to follow Crack Commandment No. 4 and quit smoking all the profit. Inspired by KJ, I wanted to legitimize our operation. I told Shannon we needed to invest in a scale to ensure our fluffy weed got the respect it deserved, so we found one for $4.99 on eBay. We bought apple seed baggies, too. Jenn and I used the cellophane from our cigarette packs, burning the plastic into airtight weed receptacles, but packaging is everything. You only get one chance to make a first impression.

Once the scale arrived, I found KJ’s generosity baffling. .3 of this weed was enough to roll a blunt, enough to fill a bag. So, in a totally immoral move, we sold .3s for $15. Our clientele didn’t care. Our prices were lower than the competition, the weed better. And I didn’t realize it at the time, but college dudes prefer to buy weed from someone who looks like me vs. someone who looks like them.

A parade of stoned boys wandered in and out of my apartment on a daily basis. Some hung around and smoked me up on the weed they’d just paid me for, some thanked me profusely, as though I weren’t the one benefiting from the transaction, and some plummeted into desperationville, dying in the face of my weed pheromones. I once got a text from a client at 3 a.m.: Please, let me fuck you. A drooling emoticon accompanied his plea. I responded: You’re already fucked. Buy your weed somewhere else.

For the first time, I had power in the workplace. I could make men wait, I could rip them off, I could get what I wanted and make them think it was their idea. No longer did I answer to some numb nuts like Pete, nor did I sit around waiting for Will to grace me with his presence. Control was mine. I owned the supply, and I was in demand.

But a series of unfortunate events befell my business. An altercation took place outside the Mount Joy house, and most of my roommates wanted to move as a result. Shannon and I were in complete opposition. Mount Joy, Abdoul, that foul pink carpet we counted money on, bedazzled T-shirts on, ate Chinese food on… that apartment was home. I also couldn’t relate to the Reefer Madness levels of fear that were now dictating our living situation. I felt unsafe always; I didn’t realize other people needed danger in their front yards to feel like they could be stabbed to death at any moment.

Coincidentally, I’m not an Army of One, so my personal feelings were brushed aside for a three-bedroom apartment on the other side of town. I had to rely on my roommates and the occasional cab to get to campus, and at a time when I needed money most, I became the last-resort drug dealer. The one you call when everyone else has run dry, the one whose house you have to hitch a ride to.

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