Doctor G: Business with the "Waz"

I did what??
Almost every drive to the Waz had some kind of adventure. Jeff and I went up one afternoon with the intention of a quick purchase and return. As almost usual we had a bit of trouble locating him, but after a few hours we found him and settled down to do some business. With the Waz the first order of business was the sampling of as many different flavors he had in stock. After six or eight flavors of top shelf weed he broke out the hash jar and another five samples. After all that it was hard to remember what the first few tasted like so we had to go back and sample some of them again. It took some time. Eventually we settled on a pound of the chocolate Colombian and a pound of the gold Colombian. We rolled four or five joints for the two and a half hour ride home. It was after ten in the evening when we headed home.
Interstate highways are boring and empty. We smoked the first joint while we were still in Vermont. The next two as we passed through Massachusetts. It was after midnight when we hit the coast and headed north on the turnpike. We had just lit another joint as we entered the toll plaza. All lanes were empty as we pulled up to the only occupied booth. I must have confused which hand had the quarter and handed the toll keeper the joint instead. He looked at me and accepted the joint; took a big drag off it and hit the paid button. He handed me back the joint just as the light turned green and we headed off.
As I handed the joint to Jeff he looked at me with shock. He tried to talk but he could only mumble, â??the joint the jointâ?�
â??Yea here; your hitâ?�
â??Bu..bu... bu...butâ?�
â??But what, your hitâ?�
It took Jeff several minutes but eventually he convinced me I had handed the joint to a state employee in uniform. At this point we are twenty miles from home. As the fear started to take hold we pulled into a rest stop and packed the weed into the frame of my truck. We smoked the last joint fifty feet from the truck, hiding in some bushes near the back of the rest stop. Thirty minutes went by and we saw no sign of pursuit, so we climbed back into the truck and drove home. Later my brother was at a party and one of the people there was the toll collector in question. He had many wonderful tales of people in superman suits, or topless girls as they drove by in convertibles. A clown convention once had hundreds of people with red rubber noses drive by in an hour. He never mentioned receiving anything,
:rastasmoke:

Tales of the "Waz" He was a great connection untill he disappeared. Literally. Enjoy!
Doctor G

Damn that's some tight shit.

Reminds me of the time when I ordered a pizza and answered the door with the joint in my hand. The pizza guy said "That's some good smelling dank you got" so I let him hit the joint and come in my place for a minute. We took some rips, I tipped him, and he was on his way to deliver more pizza's.