I set up a system where after the initial contact with the customer, there would never be any mention of marijuana again. One of my customers liked to play Nintendo, so that became his code word. When he approached the counter in the kitchen, he would give me his order for a burger with his fries, or whatever he was eating, and then he would casually mention something about playing Nintendo. This would be the signal that he wanted to make a buy. He would fold up a dollar and put it in my tip jar. A twenty would be folded inside the dollar bill.

When I served up the fries I would lay down a piece of wax paper. Slip a baggy of pott onto the paper and then throw down another sheet. I’d dump the fries on top of these. Some nights I’d sell only three or four baggies. Other nights I’d sell up to a dozen. It made for a lucrative side line and I found that I soon had plenty of money to make motorcycle payments with, and a lot left over to go out drinking with.

Each customer had a different code word, and I would never sell to someone that I hadn’t seen in the bar at least a half dozen times and gotten to know. I was hardly frugal with my new found wealth, and spent it nearly as fast as I got it. When I wasn’t working, I was out drinking or dancing.

Marijuana was a double-edged sword for me. I found that each time I made a wholesale purchase I was setting aside a portion for myself. Several of my doctors had confidentially advised me that, although they couldn’t prescribe it, they recommended eating marijuana as a way to boost my appetite. Cystic Fibrosis makes it very difficult for the body to break down and absorb nutrients from foods. Fatty acids are particularly hard to digest. The appetite boost that marijuana gave me allowed me to force feed myself and resulted in me putting on about twenty pounds of solid weight. This was not fat weight. Because of the difficulties in absorbing fat, it is almost impossible for someone with cystic fibrosis to get a beer belly. Even with the extra twenty pounds that I put on, I was a whopping one hundred fifty-five. I wasn’t exactly Schwarzeneggerian in proportion.

I found that more and more, I was smoking the pott instead of eating it. The body assimilates the drug faster when it is smoked, but considering that I have a lung disease it could hardly have been considered a wise way to take the drug.

An acquaintance of mine made a pipe for me that consisted of four sections. Each section was, in and of itself, a pipe. It could be broken down and used as a part or as a whole. Like a heroin junky wearing a spoon around his neck, I wore the pipe when I attended parties, or went to see bands in downtown Seattle. Often the bars were dark enough that during a band’s set I could break out the pipe and smoke a quick bowl.

At parties I found the pipe was particularly effective as a pre-emptive strike. At one party, I apparently got on somebody’s nerves, because two guys much larger than me introduced themselves and proceeded to tell me that they hated me guts and that they were going to beat the crap out of me.

"Okay," I said. "If that’s what you want to do, I understand. Do me a favor first, though. I’ve got some pott. Why don’t you sit down and smoke a bowl with me, and if you still want to beat the crap out of me after we’re done, then you can."

I broke out the pipe and tamped some pott into the bowl. We passed the peace pipe around and soon after they were telling me what a great guy I was.