One Big Jar of Pills

Bling is one of the smartest men I know, and I know a lot of smart men. He can tell you about every tactical and historical inaccuracy in The 300, and not just because he watched the special on A&E afterwards. He can run down information I didn't even know existed about history, religion, politics, engineering, anything. He can logic around any argument I come up with for anything to the point where my mind actually gets changed. He's a smart boy.

He's also a coke dealer. That's what he does.

I'd love to say that he's a bartender or a professional gambler, because he does those things, too. But his real profession is coke dealer.

And also, before we go on, let me emphasis a coke dealer. Not my coke dealer. I am not doing coke. I know him from the bar where he bartends. It's one of my traditional stops. One of those places where girls and I drink for free and where, on insomnia nights sometimes when nobody is picking up their phone and I need to wonder, I sit and talk to Bling about European history.

And last Friday I sat at that bar for hours talking about Greek history, and boys who hurt your feelings, and what I want out of life and ... coke. Remember the days back in the day where I would have these absurd conversations with people and then share them? Let's do that tonight.

Bling
Dude, one thing I know is that when you get my stuff, if it's cut, it's cut with good shit. The (insert name of nationality Bling likes to dog), those fuckers cut their shit with baking soda. BAKING SODA. Why would you put something up your nose with your coke that you know a)clumps and sticks together and b) as you may know from putting it in your freezer is designed to actually kill smells?

Me
I have to tell you, I really have no idea.

Bling
It's the (insert name of nationality Bling likes to dog). No respect for the customer, right? Why would your customer come back if your product is crap?

Me
I think you may be overestimating the ability of the average Vegas tourist who wants to do some coke to, you know, differentiate between product. I'm just saying.

Bling
You're probably right.

Me
Do you ever worry about getting arrested?

Bling
Dudette, we live a block away from a police station. They leave us alone. They know what's going on, but they also know we don't keep guns in that house. They're okay with the dealing as long as there aren't any guns involved.

Me
There are so many things in that sentence that cause me pause, but here's one. In my experience with people who deal like you deal, don't you think it's maybe a safer call to have a gun around, you know, for emergency protection?

Bling
Here's what I think. I sure as hell am not taking a life over this crap. And if somebody wants to steal my stash, I'll give it up long before guns come out. I can buy more stash. I'm not touching guns.

Me
I guess it's really refreshing to hear that. I guess.

Bling
All the cops at that station know us. This one time, these stupid (insert name of nationality Bling likes to dog) fuckers tried to steal my car. But the dumb fucks took the keys while they were in the house and then went away for half an hour and then came back for my car. And by that time I had realized they had my mother fucking keys. So when they come back to get the car, roomieA and roomieB go running out of the house with baseball bats. And so I call the cops, you know the ones right down the street who know us, and I'm like "Some motherfucker is stealing my car and my roommates are going after them." And the police were actually like, "You gotta tell us which one is your roommate - what do they look like? We don't want to grab the wrong guy." And I look out the window, and roomieA is beating the SHIT out of that (insert name of nationality Bling likes to dog). And I'm like, "My roommate is the one beating the shit out of the (insert name of nationality Bling likes to dog) with the baseball bat. And the cops came and they ONLY arrested the (insert name of nationality Bling likes to dog). Can you believe that shit?

Me
It's hard to believe. It's true. Hard.to.believe.

...Time passes. I'm talking to some woman from Ohio about the tournament. Bling is hanging with Goofy Pill Boy, who is the bartender he works with. They ALWAYS work together. ...

Me
Hey, when Goofy Pill Boy wants some coke at work, do you make him pay?

Bling
Nah, that would be way non-bro. Anyway, he's a pill popper. So I'm not so into pills, but when he wants some coke I just trade him some pills for some coke and I have this big ass jar of pills from him at home. When I'm bored or stuff, I'll pop one and see what it does.

Me
That's, you know, kind of way fucked up, Bling. You know that, right?

Bling
Yeah. Hey, people are coming over later to watch Akira on the plasma. Wanna come?

And so, later that morning, I'm over at Bling's watching Akira and I get up to wonder around and there, when I'm nosing through closets, I find the jar of pills. It really does exist. Seriously.

This happened. This is my life. No joke. And I'm kind of thankful that I was there to hear the story without having to actually be part of the story.