Duuuuuude … the experience was anything but mellow.
Walking into one of the legal cannabis dispensaries in San Diego the first thing that struck me wasn’t the distinct aroma of marijuana — the smell that can make you think you’ve crossed paths with an invisible skunk or walked into a trendy microbrewery — it was the crowd.
The small anteroom was not so full that would-be buyers were standing uncomfortably close to one another but there were enough people that all the seats were taken and more than a handful of other recreational or medical marijuana users had to wait outside.
For the record I’m not enochlophobic, claustrophobic or misanthropic. As pleasant as people can be, I simply prefer the silent company of dogs. And cats. And books. Even plants.
My mild discomfort was exacerbated by the wait. Handing my ID to the greeter behind the thick glass — the sort that separates customers from bank tellers and checking cashing facilities — she cheerfully told me it would be about 30 minutes before I could enter the next room to browse and make a purchase.
Someone told me to cheer up. At least buying pot was legal now. I refrained from telling him that years ago I knew of people who, with one phone call, could have weed delivered to them in the comfort of their own home, a place where they don’t have to change out of their pajamas or even put clothes on.
Passing the time was spent reading and re-reading several times a notice the dispensary made available to patrons. It detailed the new taxes levied on cannabis for 2018.
California, it read, charges a 15 percent excise tax on all cannabis products. California also charges 8 percent sales tax on all purchases (except those made by medical marijuana users) and the city of San Diego charged 5 percent on all recreational sales. Judging by the constant flow of people into the waiting room, there are plenty of people who don’t mind paying up to 28 percent in taxes.
Eventually I was called and let into the chamber. In another small almost clinically sterile room were myriad cannabis products — edibles such as chocolates and gummy candies and cookies with varying dosages of THC, oils that could be used in a vaporizer or applied topically to an ailing hip or ankle.
Behind the counter were buds, some with names like Grandaddy Purple, Purple Urkle and Strawberry Kush. The “budtender” made recommendations based on the desired effects —help sleeping, pain relief or release from anxiety. He told me of the origin and production with the same meticulously painful detail that coffee vendors described beans in the ’80s, wine snobs talked about grapes in the ’90s and beer bros go on about hops and barley in the nows.
Eventually I left with a $10 beginner’s “pre-roll.” At home I sat back, lit my Dominican cigar and, while sipping an Irish whiskey, pondered how far we have come. The joint sits intact somewhere in a drawer. Legally purchased and stored away.
