I wasn’t driving, relax. I love going to New York. I absolutely love breathing in the pollution caused by so many aggressively driven vehicles with zero tolerance for pedestrians. It reminds me of my childhood; getting off the buses in Rio and having to hold my breath as they drive away, spewing nasty shit from the exhaust right into my face. That stuff burns your eyes, and yet, it feels like home to me. As much as I love New York, it is three and a half hours away, and my friends’ living rooms aren’t hostels, so I have to keep the trips to a reasonable minimum. I think the driving is the worst part, though, especially since I’m rarely the driver. Three and a half hours sitting in a car does not sit well with me. I am one who is constantly talking, constantly thinking, constantly tapping on some surface and/or shaking my leg. I should probably never try cocaine.
What I did instead was dig into my supplies and enjoy a few hits. The beauty of being stoned is that you resign yourself to the circumstances at hand and no longer feel the need to be in charge and control the situation. While the leg shaking doesn’t stop, my thoughts slow down and take a much more random and enjoyable course. I feel the music run through my body, I create stories in my head from the cars driving by, I look up useless information on the internets… there is so much to entertain me, I could ride in the car for days! Fortunately, it is only a matter of time before the munchies hit and we make a pit stop at the last Mass Pike plaza. It’s October 30th and I head straight to the bathroom. As I’m washing my hands, I spot an adorable little girl struggling to reach the faucet, a nice old lady powdering her nose, and a myriad other women, going about their business. In walks Little Red Riding Hood. I can see her butt cheeks underneath her impossibly too short skirt, and her massive boobs are hanging out of her corset. I’m stoned and have completely forgotten it’s Halloween weekend. I look at her and then turn to the little girl; she’s staring at Little Red Riding Hood and her boobs. The girl’s mother comes, shoots a dirty look at Little Red Riding Hood and drags her daughter out of the bathroom. Grandma scowls as well and heads out. I feel bad for Little Red Riding Hood; she looked embarrassed. I decide I should say something in solidarity.I had totally forgotten it was Halloween weekend! You look really cute.. Aaaawww, thank you! We’re going to a party and I should’ve probably put a jacket on before coming in here, I didn’t even think of it.
And then… I’m not really sure what I said, but I blabbed on and on and I noticed her face change from a smile to a look of “WTF.” So I wrapped it up and kept washing my hands. She said “bye,” and left the bathroom. I thought to myself, “God, I was just trying to be nice. She walks in here looking like a hooker and I was the only person who didn’t make her feel bad. Why are people so rude and uptight?” I looked up and saw my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were completely red and I looked as freshly baked as a Portuguese roll at 5:30am. The thing is, I may LOOK stoned, but I act perfectly fine. I’m not an idiot and I’m not a dumb kid. In fact, I would confidently state that I am a kinder, more courteous person while high. Furthermore, I have time and again been stoned without anyone knowing. Unfortunately, this time my eyes did all the talking.
I left the bathroom and kept my eyes down in shame as I walked to the Pizzeria counter. And there he was… a man whose name I cannot remember, but boy, oh boy, do I remember the time we had sex. It was a few years ago; he was a co-worker’s friend and we had hung out a few times. He was quite a few years older than me and took me out to some fancy schmancy restaurants where the wine was poured blithely. He was a very good looking guy, very polite, funny, smart, and this was our third date. I felt it was OK to give up the goodies, so we walked back to his place. The sex would have been highly enjoyable were I not mostly concerned about his sexual orientation. Some stuff went down that night that truly made me think he was gay. I never called him after that night. So here we were, years later at the Charleston Mass Pike plaza, in line for food. I may have been stoned, but I was able to think quickly and avert his eyes. After I got my food, I went to sit down with my friends. I noticed he was with a girl; a very cute girl. She ate her pizza apologetically, as if she were embarrassed to be eating in front of him. He was insanely well groomed and put together. They barely talked to one another. I ate my pizza like the hungry animal I was and the three of us got up to leave.
Hey, look, I had sex with that guy. I think he’s gay. He insisted I not face him, plus there was all kinds of other weird things he did. I was even cuter back then, so I don’t understand why he wouldn’t want to look at me.
Wow, thanks, I didn’t need to know that.
We walked back to the car, fueled and ready to start our weekend of madness. As we drove off, I thought about the maybe-gay boy and his companion. If he really is gay, I feel bad for him. That’s no way to live; pretending to be something you’re not. As far as the girl goes, if she’s kinky, they should try the paper bag method.