My foray onto the wild side
My first (and last) Michigan gummy
I have been a good girl all my life. I have always been careful and done the right thing and toed the line. (And have instead surrounded myself with wild, fun people. It’s a great setup, really.) But, out of nowhere, I’ve been obsessed with perhaps throwing away my good reputation by doing the unthinkable – but legal – pot gummies.
It’s a been an idea for 4 years now (since it became legal). We kept threatening to host a gummy party and all of the newbies in our friend group could partake. But it turned out most of my friends were just as goody goody as me: Everyone chickened out.
Then. I had a cousin come in from a non-legal-weed state and she immediately partook, just to see what all the fuss was about. How had she beat me to the punch when I lived here? She playfully insisted I get on it. So, I decided Saturday was the night.
I told Tim we would go to Lume after dinner. We were going out with a couple – and they were bringing friends that we hadn’t seen in a year. One of which was a weed PRO. If that wasn’t a sign from God, I didn’t know what was.
Instead of small talk, I drilled him about weed while eating my plain and sensible grilled salmon. The peer pressure was strong. My friends were absolutely convinced I wouldn’t do it. I felt like a high schooler again and had to defy them. By 8 p.m., we were on our way to Lume.
Here’s the play by play, for other newbies who have NO clue what to expect (like me):
Pull into Lume. It looks empty. There’s just a glassed-in reception area. Where’s the dope??? I shout. I might have it wrong, and Lume is actually a dentist’s office.
Tim and I go in. It’s quiet, so I announce that we are virgins and need help. The woman at the desk is named Feebs. She laughs, takes our i.d.s, scans them into her computer, and then tells us she will have a personal shopper out to assist us. I suddenly feel like I’ve gone from the streets of Chicago to the finest shopping experience you can get on the Magnificent Mile.
A man with a long, graying beard opens the only other door in the room. I can’t tell where his long hair ends and his beard begins. We enter the locked display room with him, and I wonder, will we die?
The room is well lit, with glass cases showing every kind of weed there must be in the world (but, how would I know?). I feel embarrassment that I’m here. What am I doing!!!??
I announce (again too loudly) that we are total newbies, can only handle gummies and can he please speak slowly to us.
Phil, our wise guide, gently chuckles.
He goes through our options. I really want the M&M-looking edibles, but he warns us those can get out of hand and fast. So we settle on 3 kinds of gummies: Unwind (which makes you feel like a glass of wine), Recover Now (for pain) and Focus (to be more productive and write a bestseller).
Why three when I’m terrified to even do one?
30 percent off, that’s why.
“Start slow,” Phil says. “Take one gummy and wait 30 to 45 minutes. Don’t get impatient because you don’t want to get couch lock––”
“COUCH LOCK?” My voice cuts through his beard.
“Yay, like when you don’t want to get off the couch,” he says. I look at Tim and our eyes lock.
“OK, what if I overdose?” I ask Phil. (I’m not going to overdose; I’m afraid to dose at all.)
“You really can’t overdose,” he says. “But there’s always the hospital!”
He says that last part with – dare I say – joy. And then relates a story about someone who took too many and they got paranoid and called an ambulance. The hospital simply diagnosed them as having consumed marijuana.
“OK,” I say, “but what if I get paranoid?” I want to run out all possible scenarios.
He points to his head – “Just remind yourself who is in control! You, not the gummies!”
This is the wildest conversation of our lives.
Phil puts our order in on his tablet device and then a man behind a glass wall goes to gather the goods. Everything is secure and out of sight. Somehow, this makes it feel illegal after all.
It’s cash or debit card only. We pay in cash, and I feel like I’m back on the streets of Chicago. We pay $41 something for 3 tins of 10 gummies each.
Tim has been mostly quiet. He has yet to commit to the whole scene. We go through the reception area, bid Feebs farewell and head back out into the night. I am giddy.
“OMG WE HAVE DRUGS!!! Take my picture!!!” I whisper.
“Are you serious!” he says, laughing, taking a quick shot while a regular walks by, unruffled by our foolishness.
In the car, I wrestle open a tin. Which seems to be child– and 48-year-old- proof. Finally it’s open. It’s getting late. It’s 9pm. We gotta get down to business.
“I don’t believe you’ll do it,” Tim says.
I POP ONE IN MY MOUTH – an Unwind one - in response.
“YOU DID IT??” He almost drives off the road.
“YES,” I say, “AND YOU MUST, TOO. We’ve done everything else together for the last 30 years, and we aren’t stopping now!”
To this, he has no argument and, back at home, a small wrestling match ensues, and I feed him one.
Then we wait.
And wait.
And wait.
We have couch lock but it’s not for any good reason at all.
“Do you feel anything?” I ask him.
“No, do you feel anything?” he says.
“No.”
“Want to watch TV?”
“Sure, maybe something will happen.”
I text my drug-educated friend after 30 minutes, then again at 45 minutes. Should I take another half? I get a resounding NO.
At 10:30pm, it’s been 90 minutes and still nothing. My drug buddy says to give up and try again next weekend. I’m devastated: We failed!
But then.
We go in and get ready for bed. I do my usual routine and, walking out of the bathroom, I ask Tim: “Have you seen my pajama shorts?”
He looks around, then looks at me.
Slight pause.
“You’re wearing them.”
OK, so maybe I was feeling something!
But the way he answered, so serious, like he had solved a huge mystery and was glad to help me? He was feeling something, too.
We both laughed until we cried.
Then, that was it. Sound asleep within minutes, our first foray into the wild side said and done. (I did wake up occasionally through the night to laugh over my shorts, though.)
The final report: I’m not sure this good girl will ever do it again. Because forgetting I had pants on once is wild enough for me.
🤣