Reflections on Seeing a Cannabis Dispensary
A look back at how things used to be
I drove by a cannabis dispensary the other day. It was a stone building on the northeast side of Minneapolis, the part of the city that bills itself as The Arts District. On the sign outside there was a lighted, green marijuana leaf. It was an interesting-looking building built of stone that looked inviting. Recreational marijuana is legal in Minnesota. I knew that, but seeing an actual dispensary made it real to me. There was a time I never thought I would see something like this.
As I looked at the building, my mind was filled with memories from a time long ago when I enjoyed smoking pot. I didn’t smoke cannabis. I didn’t smoke weed. I didn’t smoke ganja. I smoked pot. That’s what we called it. My hunch is not many people call it pot anymore.
I still laugh when I hear the lyrics to Okie from Muskogee. The parents in Muskogee might have believed that marijuana doesn’t get smoked in Muskogee, but I suspect a lot of teenagers and young adults from Muskogee snickered privately when they heard that first line. Didn’t we all?
I think everyone who has ever gotten high remembers the first time they did and who they were with. It’s sort of like remembering where you were when Kennedy was assassinated or when the space shuttle Challenger…
