Having a Beer With Billy

We all do things that we are not proud of. Things that we wish could change, but still do time and time again. For most of my adult life I have been going to the same crappy neighborhood drug dealer. I don’t enjoy it, but Billy is my only option.

I’ve been going to Billy since I was 18. Billy is 45 years old and still lives in his mom’s basement. It’s a quaint house on Main Street. Through the years he has occasionally requested that I go through the side entrance, so no one sees me come or go. But around this time of year, he makes sure his peers know that he has my support.

After over a decade of supporting his small business, I think I have only seen Billy in about three outfits; his moderate outfit khakis and a blazer. His workout outfit, a dobok, or for non-experts: what you’d see people doing taekwondo in. But the best is his typical attire, American flag pants, paired with an all black t-shirt with the words “don’t tread on me” written across it. He tops it off with a lapel pin in the theme of a pride flag. Billy’s wardrobe seems like something pulled together from Gallagher’s bin. No clearly identifiable or consistent style, just a little bit of everything so he will have wide appeal.

Every two to four years, I tell myself that I am going to take my business elsewhere, that I am going to find someone new. But I find myself out of options and afraid of change. Why fix it if it’s not completely broken? November 2016 though, things came to a head. I went over to Billy’s mom’s basement, or “the Capitol” as he calls it, and I asked for my usual dime bag. As I am about to complete the transaction however, I realize that I am holding an abnormally small bag of organic, gluten-free, definitely-vegan, oregano.

I confront Billy about the blatant misrepresentation, and he immediately begins attempting to convince me that I actually wanted a bag of oregano; and that he — -certainly more than I, knows what’s best for me. Feeling disillusioned, and somehow ashamed of myself, I tell Billy that I have had enough of this nonsense, and that I am taking my business elsewhere! I’m going to go out on my own and see what someone else can offer me. Billy explains that the other options for neighborhood dealers are bad and are trying to destroy my family, and perhaps more importantly, my community!

Billy deepens his stance as I’m preparing to leave and tries to convince me that if I don’t accept the tiny bag of grass seasoning then I am in fact a narc, and that I not only hate perennial herbs but I also hate America. I quickly got distracted pondering my own allegiance on these accusations while he continued on a 15-minute tirade, all the while, shaking his oversized Stumptown Coffee at me.

As he begins to wind down his oregano odyssey, which I can only tell because the coffee starts shaking more infrequently, I direct my listening away from my own self-reflection in my head back to him. When I have him back in full focus, I see that he has a handful of Americano in one hand, and the other hand is stretched out toward me, unmistakably looking for money to end our exhausting transaction. It was at this dizzying point that I realized that my dysfunctional drug dealer, Billy doesn’t give handouts, he only accepts them; just like the United States Congress.

If you think this sounds made up, imagine my feeling as he then gave me a number to text in order to support his small business — “text 55555 to donate $10 to the political action campaign because action starts with political campaigns”. Turns out, like corporations, Billy is a person too, just trying to live the American dream at a much lower tax rate than everyone else. At this point, I managed to overtake my stupor and stand up in the hopes I could escape this quickly-more-and-more-terrifying nightmare. I walk out of the basement completely confused and dissatisfied [still no drugs], but excited to do it all again this year.

Billy’s supply:

• “Demochronic” (marijuana): it’s all free hempcare, DABs, and Snoop Dogg, but you look closer and realize it is actually also a multiple billion dollar corporation designed to exclude black and brown people.
• “Electric Elephant”(cocaine): for when you want to have a good time, laugh at poor people, and party with Anthony Scaramucci.
• “The Socialist Network” (ecstasy): free love and abnormal dehydration.
• “The Green Party” (meth): please stay away.