Like most of Davis, I grew up in straight-edge suburbia with only the vague notion that drugs certainly existed but definitely wouldn’t be found in my home town. So when I had the opportunity last weekend to sit down with a distinguished gentleman with a penchant for psychedelics, I was understandably intrigued. While I want to make it clear that I don’t particularly recommend drug use, I think a little exposure goes a long way.
How do you even get mushrooms? You didn’t pick ’em, did you?
Oh God no. Really, you’d be surprised how easy it is to get drugs. Of course, living in Santa Cruz helps. This one time I needed to buy some weed so I just walked up to a couple dudes with jackets. I asked one if he was holding, and he just pointed to his buddy. “No, but he is.” That’s Santa Cruz.
I’m no statistician, but I think that makes one out of every three people in SC a dealer.
It’s awesome. Our supplier this time was a tiny little Asian girl in the dorms. Her place was a disaster, and a giant blown-glass bong on the floor made the place smell like Earth Day. They even had a little grow operation on the balcony, maybe four or five plants in plain view like no one should care. It all felt cliché, especially when she busted out a giant cardboard box filled with drugs. We spent $160, and were trippin’ balls all afternoon.
So what’s shrooming like? “Tripping balls” is a bit non-specific.
They take forever to kick in, and that’s after you manage to choke ’em down. Shrooms look and taste like bird crap, so we tossed ’em on PB&J’s and drank glass after glass of OJ. Turns out Vitamin C improves the body’s uptake of certain chemicals, like calcium and oh, say, psilocybin, to name a couple at random.
You’d think they’d mention that in NPB 101, but no.
Go figure. I only noticed they’d taken effect an hour later, when the walls started breathing. Mushrooms are mildly hallucinogenic, which means you see things like motion trails and extremely vivid colors. Apparently Paul was watching George’s face casually rearrange itself; I was too focused on a cut on my leg to notice. Every time I looked at it, it started bleeding profusely, but if I glanced away it stopped, clotted, dried and vanished.
I spent most of my time outside. Ringo was glued to his front step, so I kept him company. He summed up the afternoon best by saying, “You know, no one else is having as epic a time as we are.” It was pretty true. I was just lying on the grass enjoying the sunshine and talking to a buddy, but it was the BEST grass under the BEST sun with my BEST friend.
That’s crazy.
It is. I can definitely see why some people end up just falling off the face of society. Look at it this way: A day at Disneyland runs about $80 – shrooms are $25. Which would you rather have, complete euphoria or long lines and screaming kids? There were moments when I seriously questioned my degree. I mean really, why bother? I haven’t had this much fun since, well, the last time I ate mushrooms. They don’t really have any negative side effects, and they’re cheap enough that you could buy them on a minimum-wage salary. You wouldn’t be able to afford nice toys, but you wouldn’t mind. I’m not saying I would do it, I’m just saying I can see how some people might.
Everything was fascinating, like being a child finding the world for the first time. You remember when everything had to go in your mouth? That was me; I drifted, sampling my environment. My verdict was that the flowers were delicious, the grass a bit stringy and the tanbark terribly overdone. I knew, conceptually, that at some point I’d come down and have to sit through my engineering classes. But the notion was utterly baffling to me – I was infinitely more concerned with whether or not the bottle cap in my hand was edible.
And was it?
Probably not – I didn’t check, thankfully.
That’s probably for the best. Thanks, John.
Cade Grunst wants to hear your drug-induced stories, but not from your school e-mail. Send anonymous mail to cade@ucdavis.edu!
