The beauty of living in a premier retirement resort is that I meet some very interesting individuals who rock the planet. There’s the lawyer who was hired by the pope to defend sexually abusive Catholic priests. He got them off the hook. Bad dude by some people who go by strict moral standard. There’s the 86-year-old genius Chinese-speaking White man who designs super-high-end speakers (price tag $75,000 each) and have them built in his factory in China. Then there’s “Stan,” a married Anglo man whose wife does not know a different Asian senior babe dangles from his arm every hour at the golf course and aquatic pools. Or maybe the wife knows! After all they’ve been married 45 years. Hey, what do I know? All I know is that Stan owns a “420” factory and kind of peddles the goods around to his buddies.
The first time I heard “420,” the term tickled my blogging mind. What could that possibly mean? I thought 420 mg? of what? Highway 420? where the original peddler plied his trade? But there’s no such highway in CA although there’s one in Ontario, Canada. I thought, Nah. I better revisit my alma mater Google University. My colleagues there always come up with a good answer.
Sure enough! In the cannabis culture, starting in the early 1970’s, the term 420, pronounced four-twenty, is slang for the consumption of cannabis, especially smoking marijuana around the time 4:20pm. Whoa! Where have I been all my life? Why am I always the last one to know? It happened to young gorgeous engineer babes whose heads were buried in the sand. There were not too many of us those days.
So back to Stan. His 420 caramels come in the size of a large date, the fruit, not the romantic appointment. I remember the day he gave me a taste treat. BT and I were sitting together in my golf cart. Stan handed me a caramel and looked me in the eye. Read my lips, he said. Eat only one-half. It’s enough to get you to sleep. I don’t know where he got the idea I had a sleep problem. Stan said it usually takes effect an hour to an hour and a half after consumption.
That night at 8:30, my eyes glistened with excitement at the sight of the golden caramel candy. It beckoned me, as in Go for the whole, not a half! So I did what a compliant senior babe whose lost appetite in her early cancer days was recovered by medical marijuana (MMJ): I ate the whole thing. Let me make it clear. I have no sleep or appetite problem. but sometimes a curiosity issue does arise uncontrollably especially to one who’s still filling her cup before her number’s up.
After an hour, OMG! The bed spun out of control. My blood glucose plummeted to zero, I surmised, totally forgetting about the caramel. I had to blame something. I knew food would alleviate the hypoglycemia but I was too wasted to get up. So I did the next best thing. I straightened my body on the bed and crossed my arms across my chest the way Cleopatra did after the venomous asp bit her finger. I closed my eyes and raised my eyebrows. The pose assured me of a glamorous appearance in case I woke up dead in the morning.
But my eyes did not stay shut for long. The rest of the night I kept opening them in horror, hoping the evil images careening towards me were only imaginary.
Amazingly I live to tell this tale, to swear off Stan’s whole caramel, and to consider following instructions next time and just eat a half for a trip to a glorious high. Weeks later I tried just a half but it did not work either. It destroyed me as bad as the whole one did. Thus my pursuit of recreational CA 420 ended.