I’m a bit worried about Colorado. I am. You see, ever since they enacted that legalization of recreational marijuana business, I fear that my home state has met the slippery slope of no return.
Now let me travel back with you in time. Trust me, this is a pretty long trip (and no, that isn’t a drug reference). I’m talking way back to the summer of my 12th year when I was about to enter seventh grade – and junior high.
The era was a short time before the Beatles and the summer of love and all the angst accompanying that new “freedom” culture. I’m talking about when we still trusted people over 30 and our elders ruled with an iron fist (or possibly the back of Mama’s hair brush).
I was blessed with a lovely aunt, Aunt Ruby, who was one of my favorite relatives because she really told it like it was. And while my parents were a little light on the doling out of critical info, my aunt Ruby didn’t hold back when it came to advising me about principles and life that summer as I teetered on the threshold of my teenage years. Everybody should have an aunt Ruby in his or her life.
“Honey,” she began pleasantly one sweet summer afternoon when our extended family had gathered for another of our frequent Sunday dinners. “I know you’re excited about going to junior high. But there will be some older kids there, and you need to be careful.” Of what, I was wondering, but she wasn’t finished.
“Don’t ever take gum from any of those older kids,” she said earnestly. “Especially if you don’t know them!”
“Um, OK,” I recall replying or something equally brilliant, hoping she would go a little deeper into the reason for this edict.
But she never did. Although you can bet I was certainly on my toes about questionable gum distribution at my junior high’s large grassy campus.
Of course this was Aunt Ruby’s way of introducing me to the presence of drugs. Now I can’t say I’ve heard of drug-infused chewing gum but I’m sure it was out there. It was years later that I finally got the meaning of our mysteriously cautionary chat.
So it’s probably best that my beloved aunt is no longer with us. I’m sure she would heartily disapprove of Colorado’s new “gold rush.” Seriously? Pot-infused soda, beef jerky and candy bars? Pot-friendly hotels? “Ganjapreneurs?”
Yes, the recently legalized drug has given new meaning to “Rocky Mountain High.” I mean, you’ve got to hand it to the guy who launched a “Pot Ski Bus” business. That’s right, for a few hundred dollars per person, you’ll be picked up at Denver International Airport and whisked away via an “equipped” van where you’ll enjoy a little recreational pot smoking on your way to the slopes.
Now is it just me or would you be wary of traversing the mountains on skis with folks who just spent three hours “partaking” on this bus?
At least the snack machines will enjoy a booming business.
Now the big fly in the pot-infused ointment is selling and inhaling (or otherwise ingesting) marijuana is still a federal crime, so imagine the challenge to pot sellers wanting to deposit their massively increased income into federally regulated banks and credit unions.
Yep, those institutions have been advised to steer clear of any form of drug money. (What? Bankers getting into trouble? Naw!)
So what does the bank manager do with the depositor crossing the threshold with wads of crumpled Ben Franklins poking out of his pockets (said Franklins smelling suspiciously like the green weed in question)?
Ah, but they’re nothing if not creative, these pot sellers, because this is where aerosols come in. Yes, I said aerosols. An interview with one Colorado pot dealer revealed that he has taken to spraying his cash with Febreze before bringing it to the bank for deposit.
Oh, geez, what next, people? Stinky-Cash-Odor-Killer Soap? Odor-Eater Money Bags? Dollar Bill Deodorant?
If you ask me, we need a few more Aunt Ruby’s in the world.
Gale Hammond is a writer and freelance photographer who has lived in Morgan Hill since 1983. Reach her at
ga***************@ya***.com
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