HIGH SOCIETY

My Stumble Upon The Promised Land

I have recently stumbled upon one of the most interesting places I
have ever been. It all started while walking through University
Centre. As I was putting something into my bag, I spotted a small
white business card on top of one of the many garbage cans. I picked
it up, and saw that it read "420" on top of a giant weed leaf. It
also listed an address and a phone number. Me, being the pot
enthusiast that I am, pocketed the card and took note to make further
inquires on this strange stoner business card. When time allowed I
examined the card more closely, and noticed that the address was
nearby. I decided to check out what this place was. I quickly bought
a gram of Winnipeg's finest and headed down to whatever this address
had in store.

I stepped inside to see a bright orange wall covered in blue and
black paintings of every famous musician from Bob Marley to Rob
Zombie. I thought to myself 'what is this place?'

When I arrived, the place was tactfully out of sight and adapted to
its surroundings. There was no obvious giveaway that this store had
anything to do with weed, except for the Canadian flag that had the
maple leaf replaced with a large red marijuana leaf. It was only
noticeable if you have the right kind of eyes; any square walking by
would surely mistake it for the flag of Canada. The bright neon sign
in the window read "open" and I made my way inside.

When you enter the place there is a small room that eventually leads
to another door. The second door actually led into a bigger space; I
could see it through the window. I reached for the handle and pulled
the door open. Immediately, the smell of reefer overcame me; I was
knocked back by the intense smell of burning marijuana. I stepped
inside to see a bright orange wall covered in blue and black
paintings of every famous musician from Bob Marley to Rob Zombie. I
thought to myself, "what is this place?"

The first person to notice my arrival was actually my good friend
Fehr*. He was holding a joint and sucking on it wildly when he saw
me. His first words to me were, "What the fuck?" He then asked me how
I was doing and introduced me to the owner. The owner, who was now
taking a hit, quickly inhaled and said his name was Morris*. He said
it in an out-of-breath sort of voice and released a huge amount of
smoke from his mouth. He then looked at me and passed me the tightly
rolled joint; I took it in my hand and sucked on it like a cigarette.
I passed it on to one of the other stoners around the shop and then
exhaled a huge cloud of the pungent white smoke. The feeling was one
I was familiar with but the setting was not. The store consisted of
three cases, all filled with random marijuana paraphernalia. In the
back of the store there were a couch and three chairs, all occupied
by stoners passing around a joint.

The store was colourful and sent off good vibes on all fronts. It
seems that this place got left behind by society, or left society
behind. Whichever it was, I was right in the centre of it. This place
was crawling with all sorts of interesting people, from tattooed
freaks to the mellowest hippies, all under one roof. This was a place
where all stoners can come and unite. A place in which it truly does
not matter who you are or where you came from. This place's only
concerns are that you're a good person and that you smoke dope. These
people are a strange breed, one that started their own kind of
society. A society in which pot is the main focus. A truly "High Society."

* Names have been changed for privacy reasons.