someone handed me a gummy bear and the longest night of my life ensued

I don’t smoke weed very often at all but if you’re looking for a number I’d say that I do it maybe once every three months–and usually with an activity in mind. 

A movie, a podcast, a date…

So my tolerance for marijuana isn’t that high even though, at 5’10” and 170 pounds, plus however many years of experience with the flower, I like to tell myself that, y’know, I can handle my weight in greenery.

Well the other night I was at Redbar and I got to talking with another regular whom I know rather well from a previous job and after we’d been talking for a little while he reached into his bag and pulled out some gummy bears. 

But it was a weird pack of gummy bears. There was no label, and he only had like six in there.

“That’s a weird thinga gummies.”

He said, “They’re edibles.”


He said, “Have you ever had one?”

I haven’t.

“You want one?”

And this was fairly early in the evening, like 8:30, and I was like, Well, y’know, I plan to wake up early anyway. Lemme go ahead and take one, then head home, and knock out hard.

The rich blissful sleep of being intensely stoned.

So I said sure. 

Dude gives me a gummy. 

He says, “Do you smoke?”

I said, “Not really.”

And he laughs.

I pop the gummy into my mouth and reach for my wallet. “What do I owe you?”

His smile is tight and sinister and he’s shaking his head. “Nothing. I just wanna watch.”

Kind of a fuckin very menacing thing to tell someone after they’ve just eaten the piece of food you gave them. But I don’t pay it much mind.

I get into conversation with a bar tender and then, oh ho, I’m starting to feel it.

Feels nice. 

I’m just high.

Eventually I say, “I’m hungry.”

So I go outside, I walk down the block, I go to Burger King.

There’s a little old lady at the register and I walk up to her, hugging myself.

“Lemme get………………eight cheeseburgers………….and a small fry.”

She blinks. “Quieres EIGHT cheebourger…y un eh’fry?”


She gestures for another colleague to come over. A big guy. My age or thereabouts. He comes over and looks at the screen. Then at me. Then at the screen. “Sir, just to be clear: you want eight cheeseburgers and a small fry.”


“Alright.” He hits a button, the order goes through, I pay and grab my receipt and, a few minutes later, they hand me a very heavy bag.

I go back to Redbar. 

I give a cheeseburger to the bouncer.

I give a cheeseburger to the barback.

I give a cheeseburger to the DJ.

I give cheeseburgers to the bartenders.

Then, walking home, I eat the remaining four. Plus the large fry.

I know the math doesn’t add up, but this is what happened.

When I get to the apartment, my roommate isn’t there, so I go and take a quick shower—feeling, as I do it, like a spaceman—and then I get into bed naked. It’s almost 10:30 and, even though the room is spinning, I’m proud of myself for being in bed so early.

Speaking to my Amazon Echo I ask Alexa if she’ll play some relaxing music and she complies but, whenever I hear a note, my view of the room begins to ripple in sync with the music and I think, 

“Oh no.”

I text the guy who gave me the gummy. 

I say, “Hey. I’m not asleep.”

He says, “Yea that would be weird.”

So I write, “???”

And he says, “It’s sativa. It’ss a stimulant.”

I set my phone down on the bedside table, roll onto my back, face the ceiling and say, “Oh no.”

So began, dear reader, the longest night of my life.

Spaceman, by Raymond Ore

One comment

  • Someone who absolutely is not me (cough) knew this was going to be trouble early on….this person has sampled the smokeable kind of marijuana and it did nothing, but edibles are another story….for this person, just like the left foot and THAT’S IT of the gummy bear would be enough. But you had the whole damn thing.


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