POT SHOPPING IN DELIGHTFUL DOLORES PARK

HERE WE ARE in lovely Dolores Park, trying to score some weed.

The medicinal marijuana clubs are being closed down by Dan Lungren and the
feds, so even if a person has a prescription and the blessing of
California's electorate to seek herbal relief from pain and suffering, he
or she must hit the streets to buy the pot.

Where do they go? Many of the clubbers mention Dolores Park. The name comes
up so often, I've come to think of the place as Reefers R Us.

Let's see what it's like to go pot shopping in San Francisco.

It's midday, and isn't this a lovely rectangle of the city? It's green and
terraced, with nice trees and a playground and tennis courts, a swell view
of the skyline. A streetcar track runs along one side of the park, under a
bridge, giving the park the feel of a quaint model-train layout.

Hardly a body in the park. A couple dog-walkers, a man pushing a cart
filled with cans and bottles.

So! Who will sell me some mota -- killer weed?

What is the etiquette? If I see a likely drug dealer, do I approach him or
her? Or would that make me seem too eager, thus driving up the price?

But how will they know to approach me? Do I look like a pot shopper?
Maybe I should have worn a backwards baseball cap.

I ask two park gardeners if they know where I can find some cannabis dealers.

``They're usually around,'' one gardener tells me. ``The cops chase 'em out
and the neighbors are active in putting pressure to keep 'em out, but
they're like locusts.'' ------

Some members of Dennis Peron's pot club have given me an idea of what I can
expect venturing into the free market.

``One woman in Dolores Park approached me with a bag of weed in her hand,''
Jonathan says. ``When I acted like I wanted to buy it, she got out her
handcuffs and threw me down on the ground. She was a cop, told me to stay
out of the park.''

So that's one situation best to avoid.

I know I'll have to pay top dollar. In the clubs, pot goes for about $5 for
an eighth of an ounce, good for about six joints. On the street it's
$40-$65.

``I just paid $50 for a bag of oregano in Civic Center,'' a glum former
clubber says. ``You get a lot of bum weed. Lot of pesticides, and it's
always short (of the advertised weight).''

The pot gets messed with by dealers. Your buds might have been steamed in
Pepsi to make 'em heavier and seem sweeter, and the Pepsi'd stuff is murder
on the lungs. Moldly pot is common.

Then there's the danger.

``You have to go up to a stranger and pull out 65 bucks,'' Mary says.
``They want their money up front, so they take it and you don't know if
they're going to come back. Or he might just grab your money and run. Or
pull out a gun and take the money.''

Where is the Better Business Bureau while all this is going down?

Remember, the people who need pot for medicine tend not to be your Dirty
Harry types. It's a vulnerable group. ------

Well, there doesn't seem to be much action in Dolores Park today. But wait,
as I stroll past a storage shed I see three young men huddling. One holds a
bag of something, another has a fistful of cash, fanned out like a poker
hand.

Frankly, I am reluctant to intrude on their scene by calling out, `` 'Scuse
me, fellas, can I get a piece of that action?''

So I saunter on. As I reach the street, a car screeches to a stop and a
young man jumps out and strides past me, in a hurry, into the park.

In the bushes I see three more young men, moving about as busily as
squirrels, as if searching for something or someone.

Most of these fellows are wearing similar jackets. Members of a softball
team, perhaps?

They cast furtive glances at me, and I'm starting to sense that if I really
was desperate to buy pot here, I would not feel very much at ease.

I'm thinking that if I were sick with cancer/glaucoma/HIV/whatever and had
a prescription, there must be a better way to get my medicine.