420
I had one of those "man, I must be getting old" moments the other day, and it was especially appropriate since today is April 20, or 420 to all you stoners and aging hipsters (c'mon, just accept it) out there.
I was leaving Melissa's apartment complex yesterday. As I came down the stairs and started walking across the parking lot to where Grond was parked, I passed by a gaggle of college-age kids standing around and packed into the car nearest the curb. There must have been about eight or nine of them, all age 20-ish, some dressed in a half-hearted goth style, tightly knotted around a car meant to carry maybe five people.
Every single one of them eyed me very suspiciously as I approached. At first I wasn't sure why; as far as I could tell I didn't know any of them (although I'm pretty sure a couple of them are Melissa's neighbors) and so far as I could tell nothing about me appeared threatening. Then as I walked close by them, I realized the cause of their concern--although I never got closer then maybe 10 feet on the way to my car, the smell of burning cannabis washed over me, as potent as I've ever smelled it.
And that's when it hit me: They're looking at me with fear and paranoia because I'm THE MAN. Ten years ago no one would have glanced in my direction in this situation, but yesterday it was clear I was perceived as nothing but an old guy who might be a narc. And you want to know the worst part? It's perfectly appropriate. I don't even know if people say "narc" anymore.
I was leaving Melissa's apartment complex yesterday. As I came down the stairs and started walking across the parking lot to where Grond was parked, I passed by a gaggle of college-age kids standing around and packed into the car nearest the curb. There must have been about eight or nine of them, all age 20-ish, some dressed in a half-hearted goth style, tightly knotted around a car meant to carry maybe five people.
Every single one of them eyed me very suspiciously as I approached. At first I wasn't sure why; as far as I could tell I didn't know any of them (although I'm pretty sure a couple of them are Melissa's neighbors) and so far as I could tell nothing about me appeared threatening. Then as I walked close by them, I realized the cause of their concern--although I never got closer then maybe 10 feet on the way to my car, the smell of burning cannabis washed over me, as potent as I've ever smelled it.
And that's when it hit me: They're looking at me with fear and paranoia because I'm THE MAN. Ten years ago no one would have glanced in my direction in this situation, but yesterday it was clear I was perceived as nothing but an old guy who might be a narc. And you want to know the worst part? It's perfectly appropriate. I don't even know if people say "narc" anymore.
posted by Yukon Sully | 9:14 PM
4 Comments:
i'm still waiting to hear the rest of the story! in a desperate attempt to recapture your youth, did you hop in the car with the rest of them? have you started wearing all black? have you been telling your friends to start calling you "asriel"?
Yes, I was just like Chris Farley in "Black Sheep."
That was funny, the narc. I am a high school teacher in California; try being a narc every day. I can be completely wrapped up in my own thoughts , walking to the restroom at school when I suddenly hear,"You better be quiet, there's a teacher." If they honestly only knew that I don't care what they are thinking or saying.
Okay, I have finally learned something I did not know from reading this column: What 420 is. Duh! Alabama is always a little bit behind the curve.
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