My first drug deal was my last drug deal but not because I wasn’t good at it.  And no, I was not the dealer.  I was the dealee.  I had a friend visiting from out of town and I wanted to impress him.  I had only been in New York a year and a half and I wanted to seem as big-city as possible.  Like “This is how we roll here.  The is how we takes care of our biznass.  We smoke a fatty and then drink a couple of Zimas and watch Titanic on VHS.  Can you seriously not handle that?”

I called my friend Stephanie (one of my three friends who smoked pot) and got the number of a delivery service.  I was shaking uncontrollably as I dialed the number.  An ambivalent voice picked up on the other end.


“Hi!!  How are you?”

“What do you want?”

“Umm…I don’t think I’m supposed to say over the phone.”

“No.  How much do you want?”

“Like in pounds or…?”

“I gotta go.”

“No no no!  Umm, sorry I’m just not good with the metric system…half a pound?”

“Jesus.  How much money do you have?”


“Be there in 30 minutes.  Red Taurus out front.”

“Oh great!  I’ll see you so soon then.  Sorry, it’s just like…my friend is here and…”

He hung up the phone.  I looked at my friend triumphantly.  “Well, I guess it’s about time to start chillin’ the Zima!”

30 minutes passed so I went out to the front of my dorm.  I wasn’t there a minute before a Red Taurus pulled up.  I knew how this was supposed to work.  The idea is to make people think you know this person.  So I walked up to the car and knocked on the window.  He rolled it down half way.

“Andy!!  Oh my god!  How handsome are you?  Accounting school is treating you well!”

I decided to make him classy.  Why would an accountant be selling weed?  No reason.  “Jimmy, let’s move along,” is what the undercover cop would say to his partner.

“Holy Shit, just get in the car.”

“In the car?”

“Get in the car!”

I did as the nice, young man said.

“I like your car.”

“Do you have the money?”

“Oh yeah.  Here.”  I handed him the cash.  He handed me a small vile of weed.

“Thank you.”  I said.  Then, after a long pause, I looked over at him.  “Now, what do we do?”

“You get out of the car.”

“Oh right.  Yeah, I guess that’s it then.”

Then came the best part.  I leaned over and I hugged him.  And not a little hug.  Like, a lengthy embrace.  Why did I do this, you may be asking yourselves.  For the cops.

“You know Jimmy, I’ve been on the beat a while.  And even though that girl said the driver of that Red Taurus was an accountant right into the window, and even though you’re gonna call me crazy, tell the boys down at the station I’ve lost my knack for the streets, I’m gonna ask you to turn this undercover cop car around and follow up on the situation.”

They would turn the car around and subsequently see our embrace and be like “Nevermind Jimmy.  Those guys are obviously in a long term, committed relationship…I guess the divorce is hitting me a bit harder than I thought.  Move along.  Let’s see what else this night has to offer.”