The Only Black Guy in the Office
No, I Don’t Want to Be Your Workplace Weed Buddy
Why I keep my recreational activities to myself
Update 6/7/22: Level has a new home. You can read this article and other new articles by visiting LEVELMAN.com.
Before quarantine life, back when I was commuting to and from work five times a week, there was nothing better than ending a long day of office tokenism by coming home, rolling up a modestly sized blunt, and puffing a thick cloud of anxieties into the air. It was a ritual of sorts, a way to unwind and unplug from the microaggressions, stress, and fuckery that regularly take place at work. It’s only been a few weeks, but that seems like ages ago — especially with my weed stash down to the stems, and my guy not making deliveries until things calm down a little.
Here in Seattle, marijuana is not only legal, it’s also a way of life. Dispensaries, like liquor and wine shops in other cities, have been deemed “essential businesses,” and thus allowed to operate through shelter-in-place orders. Still, when the topic of marijuana arises in casual conversation with co-workers, I’ll usually deny ever inhaling, word to Hillary’s hubby.
It’s not like I even have to deny; they’re so clumsy with what they think are subtle…
