Sensorium

              There is a little store on Hartzel Road with ailments printed all over the windows, in what 

looks to be window writers (Remember those?). A bold and confident “We can help” suggests they have thee remedy for you. I’ve speculated for months as to what this place is, and I was just about to find out.

Late monday afternoon I arrived at this curious place. As I walked up to the door I was met by an older man, who proceeded to skeptically unlock the door and ask “Have you been here before?”. Now even more inquisitive I replied “No, I haven’t”. He walked me into what looked like some sort of clubhouse/apothecary. I was immediately hit with a pungent wall of marijuana with a subtle aroma of Doritos, or maybe it was just the feet of the old man reading a newspaper on one of the divine pleather couches provided. I didn’t ask. Anyway, I now knew I was in a place that you can hangout and get high in, cool. I presumed correctly. The music was vomit-inducing and obvious top 40 bangers, but hey, to each there own. It was very dry in there. If I was prone to nosebleeds, it would of happened within a few minutes of my entrance. The lights were fluorescent and would have made the devil himself sweat. Did I taste salt? not sure what that was. I was requested by the man who let me in, to fill out a quick form and pay 5 dollars for a “membership fee”. Ah there it is, the loop-hole. The form required me to fill in a few blanks; my age, emergency contact, e-mail, phone number, and any ailments I have. I filled it out quickly, exaggerating some of what plagues me— early onset arthritis, why not. After filling out the form I walked fully inside and took in the beauty that surrounded me. Viridian green pool tables, The likely smelly old man, and behold, the “weed bar”. It was truly and utterly breathtaking. Did I really agree to never return? I walked over to the bar, it had an extensive menu featuring a plethora of weed foods. Not only did this place let you smoke inside, but they actually provided you with a good hearty high. What a diamond in the rough. I felt like the Christopher Colombus of pot-- minus the destruction, greed, and genocide. The woman standing behind the counter couldn’t look more apathetic if she was to get her taxes done. I asked what her favourite food was on the menu and she replied with “I don’t know, I don’t like sweet things. The macaroni and cheese is good.” Are you shitting me lady? Macaroni and cheese seasoned with weed. Never mind, moving on. I decided to opt out of the weed food for this visit, seeing as it wouldn’t be an appropriate souvenir to bring for show and tell. I instead chose a pack of good ol’ trusty Randy’s, the age old favourite of the wired paper variety. The combination of the music, Dorito feet, and stale are  was so off-putting, I decided it was time to leave. I turned as I left and bid my new friends; macaroni weed lady, smelly feet pete, and that other guy farewell.