I'm sure some of you want to ask me, "so, Clash, is it easy to buy weed in Berkeley? Easier than, say, in DC?"

To which I'd have to say, "Yes."

Now, it's not exactly like ordering from Domino's, but most of the time, a (very) light 20 is a only short walk to People's Park away. I say 'most of the time' because, occasionally, no one's out. The drug business seems to close up shop awfully early here in Berkeley. I mean, some nights I go looking -- I swear -- no later than 9:30, and the only people in the park are (1) the homeless; (2) people who might be homeless but then again they might just look that way; (3) folks playing basketball; and (4) idiots like me looking for weed.

In DC, I'm proud to say, the dealers put in an honest day. You can find them ready to serve the drug using public virtually 24-hours per day, if you know where to look. But there are several problems with scoring on the street in DC.

For one thing, it can be a just a little more scary than I'd like. I'd get an adrenaline rush off it, no doubt -- and that's fun -- but it occasionally went just a little too far, to the point where I'd think, "I wonder if this is such a good idea." I never really understood why it had to be that way, either. I'm out there to conduct a simple business transaction, right; so why does there always have to be the scent of violence in the air? I mean, if I go to Sears to buy some vacuum cleaner bags, the person behind the counter doesn't give me a menacing look and whisper something about "sticking" me before he rings up my purchase. Well, OK, that did happened once, but it was in Florida so I figure it doesn't count.

Another major problem with buying marijuana on the streets of our Nation's Capital is that it's pretty tough to find anyone selling actual marijuana. Crack -- no problem. Parsley, in my experience, is also plentiful. You can also find some stuff that maybe smells herbal in certain way, but you're really in too much of a hurry to examine it thoroughly, so you don't know for sure. After all, you're on the city streets trying to buy drugs, for god's sake...you're worried about the cops, you're worried about someone just coming up to you on the street and shooting you, you're worried about your dealer shooting you -- literally anyone would have thought this stuff was pot. Anyway, I don't know exactly what it was, but I do know what it was not, and that's weed.

Which illustrates nicely the third problem in DC: Way more often than not, you get ripped off. For every gram of actual weed I bought, I probably bought five grams of faux weed. Which, now that I think about it, makes parsley worth about $20 a stalk in the Logan Circle area. If the Colombians ever get wind of this, they'll bury us economically.

It's a totally different experience here in Berkeley. You can always score in the park, provided, of course, you get out early enough in the day. I've got my own personal dealer now. "Thor,"* my 'man,' recognizes me as soon as I come into the park and we transact our business on a very friendly basis. It really is more like going to the corner store to pick up some bagels and coffee than buying illegal drugs. I'm surprised sometimes when he doesn't offer me a receipt.

Lately, though, it's getting a bit too social for my liking. Nowadays, before we transact our business, we engage in a little chit chat -- "hey, Thor, it's a beautiful day, isn't it? Any cops around? Is that a new scar?" -- I like it in a way, but I'm mostly in a hurry. They don't put you in jail here in Cali for possession of less than an ounce, but I still worry a little about the cops. Who wants a possession charge on their record? And, believe me, the cops are going to know exactly what I'm doing there in the park should they happen by, so I don't especially want to spend all afternoon making a $20 drug purchase.

But, for all of the socializing and the various problems attendant thereto, buying MJ in People's Park is certainly one of the more pleasant street-buying experiences I've had. I always walk away with a bag that weighs roughly 50% to 75% of what a 20 should weigh. And it's always real, honest-to-goodness, genuine coin-of-the-realm Mexican schwag (but see below). It's almost too good to be true.

This is not to say that you can't get jacked in Berkeley. I have been ripped off twice since moving here, both times totally my own fault. It's just...I'm so happy at the prospect of scoring weed, I let myself get lulled into a false sense of security. Once you've done it a few times, you pretty much know if the guy you're dealing with is for real. Sometimes, though, I'm so blinded by the happy prospect of scoring, I lose my ability to analyze the situation rationally. So, as a public service, I'm going to share the following very valuable Street Buying Tips, learned only through years of practice:

• The king of all Street Buying Tips is: Don't give him the money until you have the ganja in your hand. Some dealers may want a more or less simultaneous transfer. That's OK, but you need to see the product before you hand over any cash. Insist on smelling it, too. You know, try not to be obnoxious about it, but the dealer will respect you if you show him you're not just out there to get ripped off.
  
  
• A closely-related Street Buying Tip is: Don't waste your time if the guy doesn't have the product ON HIM. If you don't see it within, say, 20 seconds after you first indicate your desire to buy drugs, walk away. He doesn't have it behind a mailbox, he doesn't have to get it from a friend of his, it isn't in his apartment. If he's a drug dealer, he has it in his pocket or maybe his sock. I'm not saying he won't have a main stash somewhere else, but if he's out there to sell some marijuana, he's carrying a bag or two at least.
  
  
• Don't deal with anyone who wants to show/give you a "sample." Sometimes, your friendly neighborhood dealer will let you check out a bud, or maybe she'll offer you a couple of hits off a joint just to show that she's got "the real." She's doing this because she's going to rip you off. It's the old bait-and-switched, freshened up for the 90s. I once got a very generous supply of chives in one of these types of deals. Damn good chives, mind you; fresh, top quality, aromatic -- definitely the real. But very disappointing in a bong.
  
  
• Don't decide halfway through a transaction that you've changed your mind. Dealers hate this. You can haggle a bit but just a bit if you think the quantity is low (although it may not do you much good), but once you've started the negotiations, you've pretty much made a commitment. If he doesn't have the goods, of course, keep your eyes open for an opportunity to bail, but if he's got weed, you're buying some of it.
  
  
• Finally, say you find yourself on the streets of DC. You're looking for ganj but you're not finding it. There is, however, a little crack around. You've heard a lot about this "crack" stuff, and, sure, you like a little cocaine every once in a while, but you also know it's a BAD drug. But you're out there, right, and you'd hate to come back empty handed. If you ever get in this situation -- please, listen to me -- DON'T buy crack. You're just going to go back out again once your first batch is all smoked and buy more, and then you'll be up all night, smoking crack and drinking beers. Needless to say, you won't be in any shape to go to work the next day and you'll feel terrible about yourself, thinking the whole time, "I'm not at work today because I was up until 5:30 this morning SMOKING CRACK!" It's just not worth it.

I'm going to end this very informative column with a little anecdote from this weekend. I was walking through the park on a beautiful, sunny afternoon, hoping to pick up a little package for Saturday night. Like clockwork, Thor emerges from the woods, a big smile on his face, which I return. "Wassup, Thor?" [I use that gangsta-style greeting to show I'm "down."]

"How's it going, my brotha?" [He didn't really call me "brotha," but it would have been cool if he did and who's writing this anyway?]

"You in luck," he says.

"Really," I say, reverting back to whitey-speak. "Why is that?"

"Got the indoe today."

I pause. Indoe? The fuck? I have no idea what indoe is, but I'm trying to be cool, trying to show that I've been, you know, around the block a few times. I'm street, baby, and I know the lingo. Plus, I don't want Thor thinking I'm some kind of clueless idiot.

So I say, "Indoe?"

"Yeah, man, indoe. Indoe, indoe, indoe," Thor replies.

Well, he seems pretty excited about it, so I'm thinking, cool! Maybe it's a new drug. Something fresh from the clandestine chemistry labs of Southern California. And, hell, I want a new drug! One that won't make me sick. One that something, something, something. One that makes me feel like I feel when I'm with you!

By all means, Thor, lay some of that fine indoe on me, blood. "Ok. I'll take $20 worth of indoe, please," I say.

He hands me an incredibly small package, made out of a piece of paper ripped out of a brown paper bag, folded over and over again. I look at it a bit, smile, hand him twenty bucks, and say, "indoe! Thanks Thor."

When I got back home, I opened the package and found...marijuana. About one-third less than I usually get for $20. But the weed was very pungent, like some fresh-grown I would get on very rare occasions in DC. Great. Indoe is just very smelly, very expensive weed. I wondered if it was any good.

Man-o-man, was it ever! Three bong hits and even a long-time stoner like myself was seriously bent. And while I was sitting there in my apartment, sun streaming in through the windows behind me, unable to work the TV remote, I had a moment of insight. "Indoe" means "in door." As in marijuana grown in an in-door garden. Little resiny nuggets, skunky smell, feels slightly damp: yep, I just bought (a very small amount of) some of the nation's finest product, right there in People's Park. God I love California.

* Name changed so he won't pop a cap in my mother fucking ass. (Back)


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