It was 1982, and I had just graduated from forestry school at UGA and was looking to celebrate being the only person in my family to graduate from college, when I decided to take a field trip. A friend and somewhat business partner, I’ll call him Flamboyant, told me that he wanted to take me on a trip for graduation, maybe Vegas or California. So I told him that I would check with my brother who was working at a Budweiser plant in Los Angeles and see what he was doing.
My brother, Mike, thought it would be a great idea to come hang out for a few days and somewhere the conversation led to bringing some pot with us. I remember that Mike knew a guy who sold reefer to some of the Hollywooders and that they would pay a fortune for high grade Georgia grown reefer. So the seed was planted, sort of, as Flamboyant and I decided to see how much pot we could take with us to pay for the trip and make some money.
This is where Dumb and Dumber get really stupid.
I will admit that I paid for my junior and senior years in college selling pot to the intellectuals at UGA, a group of bikers in a nearby town and the smarter rednecks in the adjoining counties. In many cases, I would front the guys whatever they thought they could sell in a couple of weeks, then make my rounds picking up money and restocking my business associates. It was a great consignment business.
And the prince of entrepreneurs, Flamboyant, did the same for me. He really was a smart guy, most of the time, as he was really a pretty bright business person who found it much more lucrative to sell pot than let’s say, sundresses. Should he read this he will wet his pants, as he went totally underground and runs a very lucrative company for a family friend.
So we decided, let’s fly to Los Angeles with twenty pounds of pot and see what happens.
Even though we were Dumb and Dumber back then, I know now the risk and possibilities (or worst-case scenario) of what we were about to do. Not too long ago, I counselled a fellow who had recently gotten out of prison for a three strikes conviction who was busted with a couple rocks of crack cocaine.
Keep in mind what this fellow did was not interstate travel with 20 pounds of reefer like Flamboyant and I did, but a tiny amount of crack cocaine. He served 23 years of a life without parole sentence in prison before the sentence was commuted. He had no weapons, but two prior convictions of petty, street corner drug sales.
I mention this guy because I know a little more than most about the felons in Georgia. I’m in a prison ministry now and know a lot of these guys and their stories. I’m not lobbying for no time in jail for situations like this guy’s, but I do know that lighter sentences would lighten the load in our prison systems on unarmed small timers. It just seems ridiculous to lock that guy up for so long. He was a model inmate during his time in prison and he got a job his first week out.
Well, back to my story…
My buddy and I packed our bags for L.A. and studied on how to conceal the pot. And so with no better ideas, we “mummy packed” the pot in garbage bags, baby powder, and duct tape several times, probably eight or ten, to keep the dope sniffing dogs from catching us at baggage claim. As an added bonus, we put about 20 sun dresses in the suitcase with the reefer. Remember, this is before scanning equipment so the only way to get caught was for a dog to whiff you. And in the Atlanta airport it was clear sailing for these two clean cut college boys celebrating graduation on a capitalistic jaunt to “sell sundresses.”
When we got to L.A., we flipped a coin to see who went to prison in California if we got caught, and I lost. So, I grabbed the pot and headed for the rent-a-car place where Flamboyant was getting us some wheels. We were soon loaded up and headed for my brother’s hotel. When we arrived, we found that all the rooms faced the pool in the center of the place and as we walked into the pool area I heard my brother say, “Hey bro, what’s up?” I didn’t even recognize him as his hair was a little longer and he wore a thick Fu Manchu and he looked like a Mexican. I stood there looking at him and he busted out laughing and said, “Life is a little different in this part of the country. We’re a little more laid back here.”
I laughed and we talked a while and then I told him we needed to put our luggage in a safe place. We hung out that night and sold seventy-five percent of the pot to his buddy, who appeared to be as big of an idiot as us, as he was naively trusting us not to rob him and we were naively trusting him not to either rob or bust us.
The next day Mike went to work in the Budweiser plant and we headed up the coast highway. At that time, to work at the Budweiser plant in L.A. was about as cushy of a job as you could get. Mike started work at 8:00 a.m. then had a 15-minute beer break at 10:00 a.m., lunch at noon with free beer on tap and a 30-minute beer break at 3:00 p.m. and free beer for an hour after work at five. He said the place employed predominantly bikers who came from all over the country to work there, but he had a job to do that was a lot more important than maintenance. He had to make sure that beer was running through the pipes at all times as he was responsible to fix any leaks. So after the first few days, he quit drinking beer on the job and focused on his responsibilities, which pissed off the bikers. That’s where a little reefer goes a long way! Stoned bikers don’t want to fight. Ha!
Flamboyant and I headed up the coast highway to Monterey wondering how we would get rid of the rest of the dope. I remember one night as we were forced to sleep in the car, where Flamboyant and I had to sleep under the sundresses in the hotel parking lot, as it was really cold. Flamboyant was a sun dress hog and wouldn’t share, so I had to wait till he was asleep to sneak a few dresses off of him. Well since it was so cold, he quickly woke while I was in the process and we both busted out laughing at our predicament as we probably had over ten grand in cash and were fighting over sun dresses to stay warm. So, life goes on as college criminals…
I can’t remember how we ended up in Vegas, but we got there somehow driving and as soon as we got there, Flamboyant got sick, bad sick…both ends sick. To show “sympathy” I remember sitting in the hotel room eating Chinese takeout while listening to dry heaves, I offered to share. Needless to say, I ended up eating his too.
When the “sissy” Flamboyant recovered, we decided we better head back home and hide the remaining pot using the “mummy” bag routine again. But while we did the garbage bag, baby powder, duct tape routine, we decided to get a little buzz going too. That is not good to do when you have to walk through the airport carrying a reefer mummy wrapped in sun dresses in a suit case. Paranoia set in like a dense fog.
We were scared to death!
But to our relief, we landed in Atlanta, grabbed our bags and headed home unscathed. When we emptied our bags, we almost peed our britches as we discovered a half pound of pot just lying in the bottom of the mummy bag. Somehow, while we were wrapping the reefer mummy, and burning a joint as we packed up to leave Vegas, we did what all stoned criminals do, something stupid! We left a bag of dope laying in the bottom of the suit case.
And can you believe, I’m one of His favorites!
THOUGHTS OF THE HUNTER KIND:
There have been many, many times doing prison ministry, hanging out with inmates in a level 5 prison in Georgia, that I have wondered how on earth did I not ever get busted all those years ago. Many of my buddies there are far smarter than I am, but they are serving from 10 to 20 years for a drug conviction.
I really don’t have an explanation, other than God had a specific purpose for me that excluded doing time. But please don’t take that statement as being presumptuous, as I won’t know for sure until He tells me.
But I’m certainly not the only one God has chosen to use in this way. I just spent the day with one of my best friends who is a local Pastor and was locked up 54 times and did about 20 years in several different prisons. And today he is a witness for what the Holy Spirit can do in the heart of a thug when the Lord has a mission that only the thug can fulfill.
PRAYER OF THE HUNTER KIND: Isaiah 61: 1 KJV
‘“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.
Lord, I pray You open the eyes of those imprisoned, both the brothers and sisters behind bars and those imprisoned by poor choices. I pray Your favor over all who seek freedom from the false gods they worship that has shackled them to the door of darkness. You are the only true Light that will at any time and place rescue us from our sin. Thank You Jesus…thank You for peace.
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