When the pandemic hit, I was in between homes.
My girlfriend had kicked me out, and I was trying to find another spot to crash when the quarantine went into effect.
With no other place to turn, I went to my grandmother’s house and asked her to take me in. I knew it would be an adjustment, but I needed shelter and a place to sleep, and of course grandma had me covered. My second day there, I went out onto the back patio to fire-up some cannabis, and grandma walked out and sat down next to me. Much to my surprise, she pulled out a big, antique glass jar filled with light and fluffy purple cannabis buds. I was smoking the garbage weed, but grandma obviously had a hook up at the cannabis dispensary, because this was brand name stuff! I had heard about Purple Haze all my life, mostly thanks to rap music and Jimi Hendrix, but never seen it before, nonetheless smoked it. Grandma chided me for bringing such disgusting marijuana into her house, and insisted I throw it out and smoke her. I didn’t feel comfortable about throwing away any marijuana, even if it was ditch weed, but she insisted. “If you are staying with me, you will not partake of that kind of marijuana, around here we also smoke the best cannabis.” It turns out grandma had a prescription for cannabis, and since her insurance covered it she went to the dispensary every single week for a new batch of chronic. I may live here for good!