I woke up yesterday to a text from my weed dealer letting me know that he had tested positive for the good ol' 'rona. My dealer deals in person, so obviously having received this news I had to temporarily break up with him as my dealer, which is emotionally hard to deal with. Especially because I do my best emotional processing when I'm high (I only smoke weed that makes me smart).
Chad always has the best deals for me :(
So what's a Smithie to do? With the lockdowns, I can't recruit a new weed dealer with the method I used to get Chad, which was to stand in front of the Du Bois Library and ask everyone who their weed plug is until someone answered me. I also can't ask on the Smith Confessional (because I have self-respect).
Luckily, I grew up in a town where the only building of interest for a 20 mile radius was a bowling alley, so I know a thing or two about getting high without that sweet sweet grass. And that's why I've been staking out the Emerson housekeeper to learn what times she cleans the private bathroom floors so that I can lock myself inside and inhale the cleaning supply fumes.
I know what you're thinking: what if she gets suspicious? That, my friends, is why I deliberately let her see me walk in as she walks out, AND I make sure she sees me holding my buttcheeks and hears me say out loud to myself, "I have a bowel issue that causes me to poop at the same time each day". I am also carving chunks of time out of my day to stake out a few other houses' housekeepers' schedules so that I can maximize my high by running from bathroom to bathroom. Do I get very high? No not at all. But the plan is foolproof and that's all that matters.
This article is dedicated to Chad "Diesel" Johnson. He was expelled from UMass for jumping out of his quarantine housing window to try and sell weed at a frat party.
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