Memoirs of a Suburban Drug Dealer, Part 6

Regular readers will be pleased on my behalf that there has been some relief from the drought. Not from the government, but from the discovery of some hitherto unknown arteries in Canberra’s clandestine distribution networks. ‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know’ they say, but in the pot-dealing business it’s more ‘who you have to know’.

That’s the nasty part of this business. The service I provide to my customers is relieving them of the need to meet these people. A recent excursion to the outer-suburbs in search of alternative supply made me re-think what lengths I will go to myself.

Walking down the driveway into the carport of a suburban house, we were met by a couple of strange creatures emerging from the gloom like dogs, playful but vaguely threatening monkey boys. They cavorted around my guide, speaking in a strange dialect somewhere between Dapto and The Bronx. I wasn’t introduced.

We entered the carport. Lounge chairs were set up around a coffee table and tv. Five or six boys, hyperactively drunk and probably on meth, began taunting my guide. Apparently my guide has recently been beaten up by another dude and has lost his authority over these jackals.

Possibly involved in a dream that he’s still in high school, one of them accused my guide of bad-mouthing him around town. Guide denied it. The dude threatened to punch guide in head. Guide showed remarkable restraint. No-one looked me in the eye.

A couple of them then started harassing guide because he should have called them for the business rather than… who? I couldn’t work out who we were there to see. I’d already given my friend the head flick. Let’s go.

They began discussing how trustworthy each of them is as a dealer. One of them, who had a strong resemblance to a down’s syndrome person, said ‘don’t trust him’, referring to the little Indian guy in the corner. ‘I wouldn’t send him with a cup of rice to the neighbours. Even if they were starving they’d get a half cup of rice’. I suspected that few if any of these boys would deliver any rice at all.

At last the dude we were there to see came out of his apparent slumber and advised that a trip to Queanbeyan was involved. He made a call and said we’d have to wait. We decided to wait back at my friend’s house where we gracefully backed out of the deal via phone.

Engendering trust is an essential part of being a suburban dope dealer. I admit it was a first impression and first impressions
can be misleading, but I would rather trust my dog to look after
a plate of cup cakes than entrust my hard-earned to those uncouth
louts.

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