Missing marijuana turns up at bus depot lost and found

As I was riding home from the medical cannabis dispensary on the Route 30 Green bus line, I peered into my grocery bag to make sure I had put my tiny dispensary bag in there, too. Because otherwise, where had my cannabis bag gone? I couldn’t find it.

And it wasn’t in the grocery bag either.

Initiating PTSD meltdown in three, two…

“Hey Dave! I can call over to the Route 70 Purple and see if you left it on that bus,” the truly compassionate bus driver announced.

He must have seen the smoke begin to roll out of my ears as I began to mumble, “Cannabis gone! Cannabis gone!” It may also have been a clue that I was on my hands and knees peering under the bus seats as we barreled down 24th Street.

I counted to three, realized the cannabis was gone and that it was beyond my control, and got off the bus.

The driver, always friendly and courteous and plain nice, suggested I call Centre Station. If I left the weed on Route 70 Purple, it would be returned to Centre Station by the driver if he finds it at the end of his route, the driver explained.

Angry at myself for losing my medicine

Severely downtrodden and deflated, I walked home and nearly cried when I walked in the door. The truth is, I could have made it through the day without cannabis. But not now.

I called Centre Station and the switchboard operator transferred me to lost and found. I got voice mail, but halfway through leaving a message said, “Oh, forget it, you’ll never find it anyway.”

I could not remember my telephone number (which I just changed) so I just got flustered and hung up.

Can you believe they took my number off the caller ID and called back? Indeed, my cannabis was in the lost and found at Centre Station bus depot.

It’s like a National Enquirer headline: “Cannabis found on mass transit returned to rightful owner.”

Bus station employees kind and understanding

I offered an outpouring of gratitude to this QC Metro worker and explained I have PTSD.

And that I’ve had some terrible things happen to me.

And that getting this cannabis back today wasn’t even so much about having my medicine back (but don’t kid yourself … thank God I have it) as it is a hopeful statement about decent, honest people.

“You will just need to show your medical cannabis card to a sheriff’s deputy at the station,” the lady on the telephone said at the end of our conversation.

What happened next? I borrowed $2 from a neighbor to ride down to Centre Station and, by God, I’ve got my medical cannabis back.

The truth is, I have my medical cannabis back because several QC Metro employees hustled and made it happen for me.

Getting cannabis back instills hope for humanity

I appreciate it. It’s no secret that the bus is my social life. I’ve met some of the kindest people ever riding the bus, riders and drivers both.

Today has been tough. Cold, gloomy. I’m struggling.

But I have my gram of Gobbstopper (yes, with the extra ‘b’ in ‘Gobbstopper’) cannabis, a heavy indica, testing at about 24 percent. And I found out that people can be nice today.

To me.

People were nice to me.

I believe those drivers know I need my cannabis. These drivers have been my friends a long time. They saw me leave my dad’s memory care community in tears so many times I could not even speak.

There were many times while my dad was dying in those hellhole facilities that I thought I might die before him.

I have known those drivers so long that they even can remember when I used to drink.

I always say I don’t have any friends. But I do have friends.

Thank you, QC Metro friends, for getting my cannabis returned to me. You’re all swell.