The Surreal Manhattan Life
A while back I posted an entry about getting a visit by my roommate's pot delivery dude. Unfortunately I can't find that post anymore for some bizarre reason.
Anyways, last night my roommate's friends, most of whom live with their parents in Jersey, came over to our apt to order pot because apparently they couldn't find it over "there." After about 40 minutes of waiting, the dealer came. He was by far the shadiest looking white dude I have ever seen in Manhattan. He was really lanky and wore a small messenger bag over his shoulder. After he opened the door, he first poked his head in and looked left and right before stepping in. After the shifty bastard stepped inside, he turned around and looked left and right behind him before closing the door in one quick sweeping motion.
"Sorry guys, I need to be more careful because of five-o," he said as he pulled out two bags of weed to hand over to my roommate's friends.
Meanwhile, Leslie and I were trying to concentrate on the most devastating episode of Six Feet Under, the one in which the Fishers have to bury one of their own. Then all of a sudden, we started hearing this scratching noise. We turned around to ask the guys what they were scratching. They held up some shiny pieces of paper for us to see: scratch-off lotto tickets!
At this point, Leslie and I were thinking, WTF? Apparently, this drug dealer hands out complimentary lotto tickets with his goods. We both had a good laugh. It was a welcoming break from all the sadness accumulated through watching two episodes of Six in a row.
One of the guys said he didn't like Six Feet Under because it was too intense, which I found amusing because that's precisely the reason I love that show. For me, watching Six Feet Under is like eating extremely spicy food. It's pleasure in pain I guess. Of course the show is not all gloom and doom all the time. It's remarkable how the writers are able to squeeze in so much humor amidst all the death and suffering.
Anyways, last night my roommate's friends, most of whom live with their parents in Jersey, came over to our apt to order pot because apparently they couldn't find it over "there." After about 40 minutes of waiting, the dealer came. He was by far the shadiest looking white dude I have ever seen in Manhattan. He was really lanky and wore a small messenger bag over his shoulder. After he opened the door, he first poked his head in and looked left and right before stepping in. After the shifty bastard stepped inside, he turned around and looked left and right behind him before closing the door in one quick sweeping motion.
"Sorry guys, I need to be more careful because of five-o," he said as he pulled out two bags of weed to hand over to my roommate's friends.
Meanwhile, Leslie and I were trying to concentrate on the most devastating episode of Six Feet Under, the one in which the Fishers have to bury one of their own. Then all of a sudden, we started hearing this scratching noise. We turned around to ask the guys what they were scratching. They held up some shiny pieces of paper for us to see: scratch-off lotto tickets!
At this point, Leslie and I were thinking, WTF? Apparently, this drug dealer hands out complimentary lotto tickets with his goods. We both had a good laugh. It was a welcoming break from all the sadness accumulated through watching two episodes of Six in a row.
One of the guys said he didn't like Six Feet Under because it was too intense, which I found amusing because that's precisely the reason I love that show. For me, watching Six Feet Under is like eating extremely spicy food. It's pleasure in pain I guess. Of course the show is not all gloom and doom all the time. It's remarkable how the writers are able to squeeze in so much humor amidst all the death and suffering.
posted by Gary at
8:04 PM
