Sunday, May 29, 2016

My career in (dis) organized crime

Back in the day, everybody I knew was a dope dealer. Yup, they'd score an ounce of weed for eighty bucks, sell off three quarter ounce baggies to friends and acquaintances, and come away with enough profit to pick up a case of beer. Plus keep back a quarter for their own smoking pleasure.

That's how it worked, and generally speaking, it worked pretty well.

More than once I tried to take things to the next level. It always ended badly.

The logic is logical enough; if you can turn an ounce of weed into a case of beer plus a free quarter ounce... hell, what might happen if you actually bought a pound?

Or ten pounds?

Here's what happens.

First of all, you find ten pounds doesn't come wrapped in individual one ounce baggies, or quarter ounce baggies for that matter.

Somebody gotta do that work.

So you scrounge up a bunch of hired help from amongst your pothead pals, and pay them an hourly rate to divvy up that ten pounds of weed into quarter ounce parcels.

Hmm... what could go wrong?

Not only does one day of work, paid hourly, turn into three weeks, but by the time it's over you've got five pounds of weed on offer, not ten.

And since none of your pothead buddies ever had cash to pay up front, you were always fronting them the goods and collecting later.


Maybe not.

And if not, then what?

Break their legs?

Kidnap their dogs?

Strike them from your Christmas card list?

See the problem here?

And that's why I was a complete failure in setting up my own drugs cartel.

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