MOVING PRODUCT: THE LIFE OF A DRUG DEALER

While low-level drug use may be regarded as a low priority in a city
that had 8,606 assaults and more than 1,600 robberies in 2005, the
move from using to dealing drugs crosses a serious threshold.

For Ray*, an undergraduate student who lives in the dorms and until
recently was selling at least an ounce of marijuana a day, it was all
supply and demand: people wanted weed. At the beginning of the year,
when dealers had yet to establish themselves and it was essentially a
free market, Ray was happy to assume the role of a "slanger."

"I remember at the beginning of the year people were just dying to
make the connection," Ray recalls, sitting back in a large leather
chair as rap classics by the Wu Tang Clan and Busta Rhymes bump
quietly from his laptop computer. "And I'm really charismatic, so you
just wait for the one guy to run his mouth and introduce you to his
friend, and before you know it you have a hook up." He pauses. "Once
you're in, your friends are your first customers; after that, you
expand, because they refer you. You don't even have to do any work.
The system works for you."

Ray would meet up with his supplier when he needed marijuana and was
fronted a quarter pound (four ounces) at a time. These would be
quickly sold, for around $1,100. The supplier eventually received
$900 of this and the remaining $200 was his profit.

Dealing drugs, especially as a college student with no other form of
income, catapulted Ray into a lifestyle of opulence. He stopped
eating at Cherry Street Market and dined out for every meal. One
pocket bulging with cash and the other with an almost unlimited
supply of marijuana, he could afford enough drugs and alcohol to keep
himself happy.

"You get to do basically whatever you want to do and you don't have
to think about it. You don't think twice about the concert that
you're going to see. You don't care that The Strokes ticket costs
$50," he said. "It just doesn't matter, because that's $50 out of
$900 that you have in your wallet right there."

Competition was also no considerable threat. Despite that he was one
of what he guesses to be at least 10 or 15 drug dealers at Seattle
University (serving a pot smoking population he estimates is about 35
percent of the student body), there was no animosity between them.

As a slanger, life was good for Ray. During his time at the top he
says he probably smoked between two and three ounces of marijuana.
The paranoia associated with the drug's effects kept him on his ball
and prevented close calls with law enforcement or desperate users.
And in a city that gives marijuana lowest priority, thanks to
Initiative 75's revision of the Seattle Municipal Code, he had more
fear of the school than of the Seattle Police Department.

Now Ray has gone clean. A pot smoker since the eighth grade, he has
all but abandoned using the drug and put the focus toward his
academics. And though he enjoyed the lifestyle, would he do it all again?

"Absolutely not. It leaves you with a little bit of baggage," he
says, referencing the people who still contact him looking for
connections. Ten minutes earlier, he had received a call from someone
looking for Ecstasy. Ray, whose supply never extended past marijuana,
apologetically said he couldn't help before hanging up.

"You know the way this school works. The students here gossip like
peasants, and before you know it someone that should not know your
business knows your business because some (expletive) can't keep my
name out [of] their mouth."

The money he made dealing drugs, once burning a hole in his pocket,
is now nonexistent. The concerts and off-campus meals he enjoyed are
nothing more than ticket stubs and receipts.

Six months ago he was an entrepreneur, a working man who would get
out of bed at 3 a.m. to hook one of his clients up with a gram or two
of marijuana. Today, he is just another face in the crowd, walking
around Seattle University wearing sneakers and a grin, attending
class and moving through his daily life like any other student would.
For Ray, the past is - and will hopefully remain - a memory.

*Names have been changed to protect individual's identity.