open letter to every pot dealer

An Open Letter to Every Pot Dealer I Have Ever Had and Presumably Will Ever Have.

Dear Stan, Pistol, Forrest, Guy, and Big Ed,

	I’m sorry that I never text you back about going on a double date with you and your girlfriend. I would tell you that I’m just too busy right now, but the truth is that you and I have almost nothing at all in common. I mean, yeah we both make terrible rap demos, but to be fair, at least I don’t force you to listen to mine. I have compiled a list of a few things that I believe need to be addressed in order for our professional relationship to continue in an amicable, yet distant, manner.

1.	Please invest in some sandwich bags. They don’t even have to be Zip-lock; they just have to not be the cellophane wrapper from your pack of cigarettes. Also please quit giving me ounces of pot wrapped in a bit of plastic you tore from a grocery bag. Other than playing Grand Theft Auto, selling pot is literally the only thing you do. I shouldn’t even have to be telling you this.
2.	Your pit bull is cute, not scary. I’m sorry that this plan didn’t unfold the way you were hoping it would. I know you were hoping to one day make all of your deals while holding a vicious dog back by its collar, but instead you have a little rascal pooping on your carpet and eating dime bags off the coffee table. I don’t know if you had the same intentions when you bought the ferrets that I now live in fear accidentally crushing every time I enter your house, but to be honest, they’re much more terrifying than your pit bull. For example, when your pit bull noticed the smaller, black ferret charging towards him, he pissed all over himself.
3.	The aforementioned pit bull did not need to be named Mary Jane.
4.	The issues of High Times that you leave sitting out on the coffee table make me feel like I’m at the most sketchy dentist office ever built…and I used to go to the dentist in Kentucky. The only dentist in Kentucky.
5.	I only want to hang out and smoke a blunt if you’re the one treating. Even then, want is a strong word. What I want to do is make this interaction as quick and clean as possible, like the bowel movements of someone much healthier than I. Smoking with you inevitably means listening to your shitty rap demos and talking about cars and guns and other things I don’t care about. How about we just break the blunt in half and go our separate ways?
6.	No, I do not trust you to eyeball an ounce for me. Go get a scale from Nirvana at the mall; I’m willing to bet you have a loyalty card.
7.	No I do not want to do heroin with you.
8.	No I do not want to do cocaine with you. Specifically with you. If anyone interesting wants to, hit me up.
9.	10 minutes means 10 minutes. I know you think that 10 minutes can mean up to 72 hours by my count, but I assure you it means 10 minutes. This is the problem with smoking while conducting business; you barely understand the concept of time.

	Ultimately, I feel as though you do not value my time. There are plenty of people out there who would be willing to suffer your friendship just for the free pot that it entails; unfortunately that person is not me. Can we just establish some sort of system where you leave pot somewhere for me to pick up and I leave the money I owe in its place? I seriously just wish you offered some sort of self checkout system like you find at most grocery store chains. I know that those things take away jobs from people who need them, but if I have to watch one more Macklemore music video while you weigh up my shit, I’m going to explode. Or at least have to move on to harder drugs.

Best regards!
Ben Idle