Being Pimped for Weed
“Hey, can I crash at your pad for a couple of days?” Trish asked me, as she sat down across from me at Burger King. She knew my parents were out of town for a week. I had recently become reacquainted with her after she started going to South Broward in tenth grade. We had first met in third grade, but went our separate ways in seventh grade. Now, here she was, back in my life and giving me free Burger Bundles.
“Sure! My parents don’t get home until Monday.” I replied while gulping down mini cheeseburgers.
Trish smiled, and ran her hands over her bushy blonde hair. “Cool! I’ll be there after work. I can bring food. They just throw away anything they have cooked when the store closes.”
I walked home from Burger King. It was only a couple of blocks from the Atrium Apartments, where we lived. Trish worked at the Burger King where the “getcho ketchup home” incident of 1980 had occurred.
Later that evening, as promised, Trish was knocking at my door with two bags of food and a four-pack of wine coolers. We sat down at my parents’ glass dining room table and ate and drank everything. Then, Trish lit up a joint and passed it to me. I wasn’t a big pot smoker, but I took one hit and passed it back.
“It’s my last one. I gotta save some for the morning,” Trish said as she snuffed out the joint on a cheeseburger wrapper. “Oh! I almost forgot! Can I use your phone. There’s this guy I want you to meet. He’s on the football team at Broward and he thinks you are cute.”
My heart fluttered. A boy liked me! I wanted a real boyfriend. I pictured myself wearing his football jacket and holding hands as we walked down the hall. “Um, ok. It’s in the kitchen.” I pointed towards our phone, which was on the tiny wooden kitchen table.
Learn what happened that night in my memoir, Chasing Normal: Finding Love After Surviving Physical and Emotional Abuse. It comes out on November 15.