420 celebrations

I didn't go to the art gallery yesterday to "celebrate" 420. I did go last year to see what it was all about, and for the amazing joy of smoking grass in front of police officers who are not doing a thing about it.
How many countries can we say that in?
Especially here on the West Coast, it is almost taken for granted that we can smoke at liberty, and before this becomes a political rant, I will segue way cleanly into my story.

When you are in a new country it is difficult sometimes to find the little things that, at home, you would instinctively know where to look, but here, you cannot find because instincts just don't work. Things as silly as "where could I get a lemon juicer on a stick" -- which with appalling frequency is given to Dollar Stores... a whole other can of worms that is not the topic of today. Sometimes they are bigger things, and it's just a matter of not knowing what the store would be called where you could buy a food processor or what the store might look like, where it is, or how to get to it (and back again!). Sometimes, it's as huge, and simple as "friends".

In Australia once we needed some muscle relaxant for a back spasm, and the "chemists" were appalled that those were sold over the counter in Canada -- instead, they just gave us some T4s.
Ha!
So, obviously, when you go to a new country, and you are not sure how relaxed their legal policies on recreational drug use is, you aren't entirely inclined to take the same liberties as you might in your own country. As such, I had no idea how to get my hands on some pot, and no idea if I should even try to do so.
In fact it took me almost a whole year in Australia to know how, who, or when I could come across some.
One day, on the weekend, a man walked into the store and introduced himself to me immediately. He had pulled up in a big, unmarked white van, and had a leather folio under his arm. His hair was slicked back and his green hawaiian print shirt was open a few more buttons than it might have been. He was friendly, and kept eye contact, and while carrying an almost boastful demeanor, he was a bit bashful at times. He shook my hand "I'm Peter".
"How do you do?"
"Well, thank you. Do you sell pipes here? Ha ha."
Peter had a bit of a nervous laugh.
"Yeah we do, I'll show them to you. Come around"
So, Peter made his way to the section of the store where we had a glass closet filled with pipes, bongs, grinders, paper, scales, and parts. It was flanked by the butt-plugs and the "novelties"(I loathed the "novelties") like penis ice cube trays, and a penis telephone, or fuzzy penis hot water bottle. I felt indifferent to the butt-plugs, other than the "door stop"... which is one of the few things in the store which still make me giggle from sheer size (see photo).

But in the end, Peter wasn't actually interested in looking at the weed paraphernalia, because Peter was, in fact, a salesman for a paraphernalia distro company and wanted to know if his company could be one of our suppliers. This was way out of my entry-level jurisdiction. I just sell the porn! I don't buy it! But, by this point, Peter and I had been joking around and although he had no further need to stay, he stuck around the store for another few hours, just shooting the shit, and having a laugh (and learning!) about all of the products we had in stock and why they may or why they may not have my personal or professional seal of approval.

Peter and I had traveling in common. We both loved it. And we were both fed up with Australia, and its retro political views and general bigotry. Peter had spent a lot of time nearby in South East Asia, and had many stories to regale me with in regards to his time spent abroad. He seemed like an honest man, happy, and warm. At the end of our meeting he asked for my number.
It is rare that I ever give out my number at work. Especially a customer. Though Peter was more of a potential business associate, I think I took Peter's number from him, and by the twinkle in his eye I had to let him know,
"I have a partner"
"Oh. We'll have to be friends then. And I'd like to meet your partner too. I can have you over for dinner!"
And so we agreed that we would meet again and go for coffee and lunch in Brunswick.

I think Peter called three days later. We rekindled our easy cheerful warmth and he was going to come and pick me up in his van.
It was the middle of summer, February, I think, and hot. The van was hot and I don't think it had anything by way of air conditioning, so we rolled the windows down and Peter tossed me a very cold white plastic cup with a lid. It had taped to it a two pronged fork and a straw, and had white squares floating in it. My hand was wet and cold from holding it.
"This feels amazing. What is this?"
"Open it up. Drink it"
And so I did, and my unstoppable love for coconut juice and meat was ignited.
It was the most refreshing drink I had had since the first Kombucha I tried at a Hare Krishna restaurant in Paris. Peter explained they were from Thailand, but you can get them at most asian food stores in the freezers (and I have ever since).

Peter and I had coffee, and we chatted. Generally, about how Peter is often kicked around, bad things happen to him, he has rough luck with women, or bad luck befalls his endeavours. Sometimes I spoke about school, what I was learning, working at the store. We were easy friends, both eager to listen and to talk, and to simply have a new friend to explore. Eventually we got on the topic of weed, and he told me about a friend of his who grew his own, and how he often got free weed from his friend for little errands, or cooking him dinner or what not. Later on, I asked him if he knew of someone I could call, or where I might acquire some marijuana and he said he could probably take care of it for me.

Amazing.
It had been a year, and finally it was a beautiful warm summer, I had a beach, and the ocean, and Peter showed up one day with two presents for me.
The first, he showed me two glass pipes that an old glass blower who worked for his company made. Both were beautiful, stunning pieces with weaving and spiraling coloured glass within. Peter told me I could pick one to have as a gift. I focussed on the pipes for a long time, trying to decide which I would enjoy more while stoned. Finally, it became clear which pipe was meant for me and then Peter handed me the other gift he brought. A beautiful little baggy of weed so fresh, it still had its seeds attached.

That beautiful pipe lives on, though has had its share of wear and tear...and tar. I'm in a totally new place now, and just starting to make friends after having been here for a year. Sometimes, it's amazing the people who are brought together by a common ganja-bond and yesterday I celebrated 420 out in the sun with a toke from the unexpected friendship pipe, and wondered what ever happened to Peter.