Green Zone

Every-time I smoke weed, my comfort zone turns from “Some Comfort Zone” to “What Comfort Zone?”.

I ain’t no David-Blaine-Dare-Devil, but when I get high, I turn into this 13 year old insecure kid who’s terrified whether to order “Pepperoni and Cheese” or “Quattro Stagioni”…

But, usually, I find THE POWER WITHIN ME to make THE DECISION.

(Pause)

So I went with pepperoni and cheese.

Now, the REAL challenge was:

Do I call them… or do I order it from the app? Using the phone implies I’m a high functioning adult who feels 100% comfortable with what’s going on over the phone. So I opted for the app.

But wait. There’s always that waiting time, right? And it somehow always feels like you’re just about to meet the president or something.

Obviously, I start opening all doors and windows. Just to make sure that the delivery guy enjoys a quick, clean, aired visit. My red-eyes are enough of a view for him. He does not need to know my weed’s THC percentage.

The door bell rings. I always jump like a little girl when the bell rings…

But, after all these trials and tribulations, I finally got my pizza.

Now, the only thing left is that awkward good bye to the delivery guy: “Have a great daay at wooork!”

And the guy looks at me like:

“Ugh God, I hate my job.”