Back to that High

I was sitting on my balcony one morning with a cup of coffee, listening to some calming music while letting the cool breeze pass through me.

It was nice and relaxing; however, a couple memories entered my mind. A time where I was seeking approval, while also searching for an identity.

I worked at Joey Tomatoes, a restaurant chain that started in Calgary, Alta, Canada in 1992; I started working there after I was done with high school. I was 17 at the time, so I had yet to explore adulthood as much as I could or wanted.

Among a crew of young boys and men in the kitchen, I was the rookie, and one that was easy to light up. I didn’t understand how men razzed each other, or how to build camaraderie among each other, or how to build trust. I took things quite seriously, and I was overall very curious and quiet.

I lacked an identity because I was scared to be myself. And so, I started mimicking the people around me, and I tried to belong the best way I knew how: pretending to know about the things they did. It was how I started smoking weed.

The team lead closed with a handful of us one night, and he mentioned something about smoking a joint after our shift. He asked if we wanted to join him, and a couple of the cooks said yes. I agreed as well, all while saying that I could really use one. The team challenged me on this, probably because they didn’t believe me, and I lied my way through it, believing that I did smoke weed, despite never trying the stuff.

Let’s just say the first time I smoked weed was embarrassing since I had no idea what I was doing (cough-cough). I was met with some laughs, but they didn’t seem too bothered with it.

Throughout the summer months leading into fall, I kept it up. I would join them after work, usually around 2 a.m., and I would smoke up for a few hours. Afterward that, I would head home to sleep, wake up, eat, and then go to work.

My life revolved around smoking weed. A couple co-workers were also dealers, so I started buying from them and smoking on my own.

I didn’t know about rolling papers when I first bought weed, so I grabbed a bit of paper that I had and used it. Burning paper while trying to get high? Probably not the best idea. My room was pretty smoky alright; however, I did learn from this and picked some up some rolling paper for the next time.

One day after work at around 3 a.m., I joined a few people from the restaurant at a team lead’s house. I was smoking weed with them, as usual, but I was very quiet. I was lost in my insecurity, and I was afraid of who I was and what I was thinking. I sat back and said nothing, reduced to an audience member while everyone else talked and laughed.

A member from the crew, a supervisor, called me out on this, and started talking about me as if I wasn’t there.

Suddenly, the group was noticing how quiet I was, and they started commenting on it, pointing out how weird I was being. I was being razzed, or poked at for my solitude and weirdness, but I was so paralyzed that I didn’t know how to respond. Even when it was time for me to leave, I could barely muster a farewell before I left.

I returned to that house another time, but it was only with the team lead and one other cook. The team lead’s roommate was up at that time, so we all talked a bit while getting high.

This roommate was much older than us, probably around 40 years old or so. He had a bushy brown beard littered with whites and greys, and long hair with a receding hairline. We had a moment where we talked, just the two of us, and he shared something with me.

He talked about his addiction.

He was a user of crack, and he was looking for ways to keep getting high.

He said, “Nothing compares to that first high.” He became animated, raising one hand above his head, indicating the height of that high.

“But the next time is never the same,” he lowered his hand halfway down, “so maybe we try something else to get back to that high.”

He grabbed his pipe, his tin foil, and whatever else he was using, and lit up.

I had never smelt crack until that moment. It was kind of sickening, like plastic and cleaning supplies filling my nose. It was a weird moment for me, kind of like he was aware of what he was doing, but perhaps warning me.

Maybe.

I never ended up trying it.

My search for an identity continued with the people from work. My quietude continued while I smoked weed with these people. It started affecting my work as I was going into work high at times, and I was always smoking afterwards. Seven times a day was becoming the norm for me, starting when I woke up, what is called, "Wake-and-bake."

One day in the winter, I was in a car with that same team lead from before, the supervisor, and two other cooks. I was sitting in the back seat and in the middle.

I can’t remember what I said, but we were smoking weed in the car, trying to hotbox it (I think we tried it before this point). The team lead was in the passenger side while the supervisor was in the driver’s side. They looked at each other, and said, “Let’s kick his ass.”

Instantly, the two cooks beside me grabbed my arms, and the team lead also grabbed at me. I was scared and started talking, finally. I tried to plead with them, but it wasn’t working.

I was so desperate and scared that I remembered the team lead had a crush on my sister. So, I shouted, “You’re not going to have a chance if you follow through!”

And, to my surprise, he understood what I meant.

After some jostling around, he shouted for everyone to stop. He looked at me, and I at him. I said I was leaving, so I left and walked home.

I was ashamed of myself for that.

I let fear consume me.

I had the thought of using a family member as a bartering chip.

They could have been razzing me again, trying to get a rise out of me. Or it could very well have been a moment where I would have got hurt.

I ended up getting fired a month later for getting high right outside their property. I was so baked that I didn't understand that I was being fired when I was sitting in the office with the manager of the restaurant.

I have so many stories like those from my time in the kitchen, which continues for another five years in various places.

My time trying to find myself.

My time trying to be something I wasn’t.

But when I think of those stories, I laugh a little.

I think the time in the car was a little traumatizing for me, but now it’s something I can look back on and learn from. I can reflect and see why that happened, and why I was even on that path. I can’t change that. It happened, and that’s that. But I can grow a bit from it, because I can remember to be true to myself, to be assertive, and to speak my mind and be my authentic self.

Another time, I closed the restaurant with everyone after a very long shift. It was 5 a.m. when we closed and finally finished.

A very long shift indeed.

The team lead, that same team lead, had an idea to head to the roof and watch the sunrise.

So, we did, and we smoked some weed while we were at it. The sun was marvelous, and the light, as it poured over us, was rejuvenating. It was a nice moment after a long and stressful night.

There is good and bad in everything after all.