Here's Everything a Drug Dealer Will Say to You

This article originally appeared on VICE UK

Drug dealers inhabit a strange world. A world where "five minutes away, bud" means "I'm playing Destiny and have literally no interest in meeting you for at least three hours;" where "one gram of party supplies" means 0.8 grams of glucose, cut with an infant's teething medicine; where it's fine to advertise your illegal services because police could never decode the Zodiac cipher of SMS messages: "Charlie and Mandy are in town and wanna get nosy ;)"

Dealers also tend to be quite hard to communicate with, either because they mumble over the phone like their lips have been glued together, or because they decide to get weird and petulant about having to drive five minutes to take £160 [$250] off you. If they're overly friendly, that's also a worry. Don't be fooled by the "special price"—"Smokey" is not your friend: at best, he's trying to shift the dregs of his supply; at worst, he feels guilty that what he's selling you is about as potent as a bottle of Beck's Blue.

There are, of course, various strains of dealers—the aspiring MC, the jovial runaway war criminal, the skunk seller in the bobble beanie who's definitely at least a decade younger than you—and, within those distinctions, a minority of alright people who just so happen to sell drugs. But these generalisations do apply to the vast majority: the types who buy three phones because they're convinced the police are monitoring them, then pull up outside a high-street BHS, blasting Rich Homie Quan and passing wraps of gear through a crack in the window, with all the subtlety of Spencer Matthews at an afrobeats party.

Still, if you want to exchange money for something that's going to temporarily make you feel amazing, and then really shitty a few hours later, you're going to have to go through all this at some point. Here's what to expect.

This could happen anywhere—they might hand you a WordArt business card during freshers week, or accost you in a smoking area, or try to give you a bump at your sister's funeral, before writing their number on your hand and winking at you the whole way through the wake, and you can't work out whether it's a really unfortunate gak tic or if they're just the worst human in the world (though admittedly pretty enterprising).

Wherever it happens, it's going to go one of two ways: either they go full sniveling Apprentice contestant and tell you they've got the purest shit around for the absolute best prices, i.e. they lie directly to your face. Or you pass them in the street and they kind of dig their chin into their chest and look up at you like they might hurt you, and go: "Eh bruv, you smoke / looking for anything / [just shout names of drugs at you]."

And then they say "take my number" exactly three times, getting quieter each time, shrug at you when you've added them to your contacts, and walk off.

Let's be honest: it's far more likely you got a number through a friend than met anyone in the street. Unless you live in a busy urban area, I can't imagine people are wandering around screaming the names of drugs at strangers. Anyway, the first text / call will go something like:

You: "Hey, my name's X, I got this number from X, you about?"

And they will say: "Yeah, cool, what do you want?"

(Or, if they are nuts, they will say: "Text me your full name and your post code." Do not do this.)

And then you'll go: "A 20 bag."

"Okay, see you [in a location you have to look for on Google Maps] in 20 minutes."

You've been standing in a Travelodge car park for 15 minutes longer than the specified time. You're thinking: 'Is it going to piss this guy off if I call him?' You're pacing around a bit now. 'Am I as chill as I thought I was, or am I really going to call a dealer right now to complain that the delivery time wasn't as advertised?'

You decide to call them.

"Who's this?" they grunt, audibly grumpy.

"Oh, it's me—I called you before and you said you'd meet me here 15 minutes ago."

"Oh yeah, man—I'm on my way." *You hear Jeremy Kyle scream: "THIS IS MY SHOW" in that loud, pained way of his from somewhere in the background* "I'll be there in five minutes; I'm in a red Corolla."

You're getting tired of waiting; if this was Domino's you'd be entitled to a free pizza by now. Do drug dealers have no concept of time? Do they not understand that people who want drugs usually want them right away? Unless you're a prepper who wants to live out the rest of your days grinding your teeth down to a set of raw, bloody gums as the world outside your bunker burns and disintegrates into a writhing coil of dust, you don't buy your drugs that far in advance.

"You said you'd be here, like, an hour ago," you bark down the phone, angry now, pissed off that you've had to deal with looking like a nob for ages, hanging around in a hotel car park like a lonely autograph hunter, pretending to text people while guests get in their cars and glance at you suspiciously.

"Traffic is so dense, mate. I'm on my way—I'll be there in five minutes. Be in the car park, yeah?"

"Hey man, just running to the cashpoint if I'm not there when you arrive," you say. "Realized I didn't have enough on me."

"Make sure you're there on time, I've got another drop to make," they reply.

You feel acid rising from your stomach in pure, seething anger.

"Get in the back."

You try to open the door, but one of their mates is sitting that side, so you awkwardly shuffle around the back of the car and get in the other door.

"What was it you wanted?"

"Oh, just a 20 bag."

And they'll go: "Only selling forties, mate, because I've driven all this way."

While you reluctantly get your wallet back out, they'll ask you something like, "Got any plans tonight?" They do not give a shit and will not listen to your reply.

You hand over the money and they give you the drugs.

"Listen, yeah—hit me up if you need whatever. I do coke £50 [$75] on the gram, or £70 [$110] for the import shit, and pills, K, weed, whatever. You got my number, yeah?"

"Yeah, just called you on it."

"Cool, cool."

"Real good Charlie just in £110 [$170] a g. Real nice and pure I just did a line ;)"

"*New K and C hit me up. Both real pure good shit*"

"Pure and nice MDMA £40 [$60] a g and Charlie £100 [$155] special price for Ramadan. Hit me up."

Ad nauseam.