Saturday, March 22, 2008

Tales of the Far North

A short pause in Egypt blogging while I go through the bazillion uncataloged photos. In the meantime, I have a couple of Humboldt Co. tales for you:

This one's from the Co-op grocery store by the New Vitality Homeland. A guy came through the checkstand with a package of turkey oven bags. Chatty, ever-so-friendly Jason, on bagger duty, starts telling the guy, "Yeah, turkey! It tastes so much better than chicken. I love it; eat it all the time..." etc. The cashier and someone else in line are laughing at all this. After the customer left the store, the cashier told Jason, "You know people buy those to put pounds [of marijuana] in, right?"

Well, no. That was news to Jason (and me). Turns out a representative of the company that makes those turkey oven bags flew out to Arcata to find out why why the Co-op sells more turkey oven bags than any other store, year-round. The cashier then said, Didja ever notice what else is on the shelves next to the turkey oven bags? [Trimming] scissors and jars? Oh yeah, it might not be on the overhead placard, but it's true nonetheless: Arcata's supermarket has a marijuana supply aisle.

The second story is from work. And does not involve dog poo!

During break one of the carriers was telling us how, when he was working down in Eureka, he had this one address that was on a hillside, with flights and flights of stairs between the street and the front door. He used to just leave one of those little brown notice slips when they got packages too big to fit in the mailbox, but then the lady of the house complained to the postmaster about it.

So now the carrier has a certified letter for that address and trudges up the steps to the front door—where he can see right into the living room as the curtains are open, where Mister and Missus Occupant are getting it on in plain view. The carrier started to turn away, remembered the complaint, so he turned back and knocked on the door and got Mister Occupant to sign for the letter.

The carrier said that after that, if he brought a certified letter or parcel up to the door, Missus Occupant would never answer the door.


Demon Hamster said...

The wide range of accoutrements associated with the drug subculture never ceases to amaze me. I lived in Santa Cruz for a few years and was constantly surprised by the numerous things like this that everyone around me just seemed to know. Like there was some kind of handbook that got passed around listing all of the household/industrial items that people were really just stockpiling to get as high as possible as often as possible. The whole thing struck me as a huge waste of time and effort and yet, on some level, you have to admire the ingenuity.

Bones said...

Exactly! And did the good people of Santa Cruz shoot you those "poor idiot" looks at you when you didn't know their esoteric drug lore? I get that all the time. But really! if everybody was using turkey oven bags for their pounds, the Reynolds stock would be through the roof.