Although I love to smoke weed alone, I rarely do, because people who share my enthusiasm for all things marijuana constantly surround me. It’s natural that I’d have this social circle—I’m one of those lucky stoners who get along swimmingly with their coworkers. My work crew—known internally as the #hardboyz—is comprised of ten brown and Asian dudes. By day, we engage in a variety of creative endeavors (writing articles, shooting videos, and producing music), and by night, we smoke excessive amounts of weed as we brainstorm ideas for the next day. A friendly delivery guy regularly serves our collective weed needs. (For the sake of his anonymity, I’ll call him G.) Once every day or two, G pops in the door with his bike, like a Mr. Rogers character, and we all react with appropriate enthusiasm as he lays out his purple jars and tells us the day’s menu. At some point, this menu started to include cookies, brownies, and other edibles. We quickly learned that G is a fucking fantastic baker and became addicted to his cookies.
For the longest time, G was with the same drug delivery service, which I’ll call Acme. The count on the bags was pretty standard, and the quality was always awesome. But a couple of months ago, G left town. Suddenly, Acme’s product started to suffer. The weed wasn’t as good, and the cookies were weak, but the deliverymen tried extra hard to win us over, offering us all kinds of deals. It wasn’t worth the downgrade, so we turned to other resources. Before long, G returned and announced that he was starting his own service, which I'll call Batman. His service would offer better weed, better counts, and by god, better fucking cookies. With that, he granted each of us a cookie and told us not to eat them all at once, because they’re really strong. This, of course, marked a sudden uptick in our cookie consumption. Indeed, the cookies from G’s new service were even better than his cookies at Acme, and occasional encounters with Acme’s cookies revealed Acme's nosedive in scrumptiousness.
Last week, the crew and I got to thinking that we may as well buy cookies from G in bulk—mainly for the cost savings, but also for the good feeling you get when you know you have a lot of cookies. We texted G to ask the price. He gave us a reasonable quote, but then we got greedy. Someone proposed we take that price back to Acme and see what they could do for us. Although we were reluctant to go back to the lower quality cookies, we figured starting a price war between the two companies would get us a lower price. (These are the depths to which we sank in our cookie depravity.) Acme came up with a counter offer that promised to stack us with enough cookies to outweigh anything G could offer. The crew went into deliberation mode. We decided to wait until we could talk to G in person, and in the meantime we would eat the most recent batch of cookies he had dropped off—which obviously led to us forgetting the issue and never getting back to Acme. They seemed pretty irked when we didn’t take their offer, and we managed to irk Acme a second time the next day when we accidentally summoned both services to the same party, only let G in, and told the Acme guy we were all set when he got there. Knowingly or unknowingly, we were exacerbating an already bitter rivalry.
The other day when G was dropping us off some cookies, he mentioned that he had caught wind of the party mishap. He explained the background of the Batman-Acme feud. G and two other guys used to work for a bigger delivery service and decided to break out on their own to start Acme. Although they initially agreed to make customer service a priority, G’s partners had other methods in mind. They worked with G for a few months, got to know his customer base, and as soon as G was out of town for a stint, they co-opted his share of the business and gave him the boot—that was when the quality of their product started to go down. They started selling cheaper weed for the same price and cutting down the amount of weed oil in their cookies. They tried to make up for it by offering us deals. When G returned and started Batman, he had an easy time winning us back, which enraged Acme—as it turns out, the #hardboyz are something of a prize. We consume so much weed and so many cookies, deliverymen are battling each other to win us over.
That day, G left us with the knowledge of our buying power in the weed cookie game. But before he walked out, he also gave us each a cookie. When we bit into those delicious edibles, our disloyalty melted away. No matter how many cookies anyone offered us, G was our guy. Acme sees us as a cash cow, but G genuinely wants to keep us happy and stoned. For that, we want to keep him rich.
OK, G. I held up my end of the bargain and wrote a whole article about how great your cookies are in exchange for free cookies. Where are my cookies?
Previously - A Muslim's Adventures in Pork