A few months back, I was at a friend's wedding and witnessed something of both glory and horror.
A bridesmaid, riding the energy of the night, exited the dancefloor mid "Single Ladies" and broke out a dab rig and torch—going to work on some shatter like a welder as the bride's horrified aunt from Georgia looked on.
It got me thinking: There's a lot of dumb shit stoners do, especially in public. Sure, you know it's illegal to light up while driving. You probably know an OLCC-regulated bar will get a massive ticket if you're seen toking there. But what about the grayer zones? That's why I put together this guide to getting high in public. Tear this page out and laminate it if you find yourself wondering…
Dabs at a wedding?
No. You don't need to go there: Plenty of companies make hash oil cartridges that are just as strong and far more stealth than the traditional dab gear. You walk by these convenient oil pens every time you enter a dispensary. So pick one up.
Edibles on a plane?
Not unless you've got your shit dialed in. Case in point: In the summer of 2008, I moved from Richmond, Va., to Portland to finish a record with a buddy from college. When I got to Dulles International Airport with a duffel bag and a guitar (so romantic!), I was in possession of a Rice Krispie treat made by a notoriously heavy-handed chef: If he told you to eat half, eat a quarter of it and that'll likely be a journey. So that's what I did, standing in the security line. Then I got nervous. I didn't want to get arrested for possession on my way to the promised land. A half-dozen bites, and the edible was gone. Two hours later, I was one hour into a five-hour flight, convinced that I was having a heart attack. Of course, I told no one, and powered through the most terrifying high of my life.
Doobs around kids?
There's a home video of my childhood best friend at a family reunion at the age of three. His uncle hands him a red Solo cup and sends him to the keg to refill his beer. The toddler stumbles across the lawn, fills the cup at the keg, takes a long drink off its frothy head and then returns. "Here's your beer, Uncle Ted," he says with a slur, handing over the cup before falling over. He'd apparently been playing bartender for other adults all day. The moral? While we should make a point of exposing youths to responsible cannabis use so as to destigmatize and set a good example, maybe get a sitter for the times when you're gonna be so high that you'll have your kid packing your bowls for you.
Getting stoned at shows?
Even if security guards aren't morally opposed to weed, they still have to represent the interests of the venue. I'm reminded of this time I was in Camden, N.J., seeing an iteration of the post-Jerry Garcia Grateful Dead. The band was about 45 minutes into their classic improvisation piece, "Drums/Space," when a local Deadhead got frustrated, stood up from the mostly seated crowd, and decided that he was now the voice of the people. "Quit joikin' us off and play a song," he catcalled, repeating the phrase between gulps of Miller Lite and exaggerated pulls off a loud-smelling joint, unaware that the security guards just 20 feet up the hill indeed had noses, too. They calmly snuck up behind him, put him in cuffs and whisked him off to Sad Town. Should've saved that moment of defiance for the parking lot.
Being high at work?
There's nothing less impressive than a person who can't do their job because they're high. If that happens to be you, no matter how many times you tell yourself, "They don't know I'm baked," they probably do, and they're probably annoyed that you're staring into the milk steamer, transfixed by the bubbles that should already be the foam atop their latte, while the distinct scent of burning milk wafts across the counter.