Me and Chelsea Leigh Trescott recording (in her jam in SOHO) for an upcoming and exciting episode of Thank You Heartbreak.
Are you ready for a shot of honesty? It is actually more difficult for me to skirt around the truth than it would be to just come out and tell it, but my current sitch involves my present status at my job, the input of the federal government and inner workings of the Teamster Local 707 union, so I don’t really feel that it’s my call, at least at this point, to give a full confession and testimony. I will say, however, that it has been quite an eventful week.
Now whether you want to call the realization of your worst nightmare “eventful” or “traumatizing” is up to you. I’m going with eventful because I stopped being so quick to decide what a situation means for me. After several decades on the rock, I have gotten comfortable with the truth that unprecedented happenings could turn out really bad or for the better. Let’s call that “Life Lesson 1.”
I will say, at least, this:just because I am permitted to go home at night and do five shots of Cuervo and not permitted to go home at night and eat an infused gummy, does not mean I agree with it. My union representative came down to the terminal where I worked to support me in this little jackpot I have gotten myself into and I shut the motor to my truck off when I saw him start to make his way to the office. He stopped to talk to the yard jockey.
I think it’s fairly obvious that he didn’t see me. He felt compelled to shout over the sound of the yard horse, “One of the city guys just pissed dirty!” When I say I heard it from over 120 yards away, I’m not exaggerating. So I walked outside the fence and asked if it might be possible to treat this situation with a little tact.
“Eh…the way things spread around here–”
“Yes, I get it,” I said. “Still, though, we don’t have to feed the gossip monster.”
Then he changed the subject. According to protocol and our union contract, he explained, you need to go inside and officially request a leave of absence. Then, when the company is ready to give you a stern talking to, you can present them with the fact that you have reached out to a counselor and you set the wheels in motion to get this behind you.
SPOILER ALERT: We’re talking about me ingesting one gummy.
Life lesson 2- Just because it makes no sense that alcohol is permitted and infused gummies aren’t doesn’t change, alter or diminish the fact that it is. It’s like playing a dumb game with dumb rules. No one is forcing you to play, but if you like that money you make, you’re going to have to just accept it.
THC is, for the most part, legal now. It’s really about time. It needs to come off the DEA’s Schedule I. Schedule I, by definition, means a substance that is often fatal and has no medical value whatsoever. THC is not fatal and, by dint of the fact that millions of people in the US possess medical marijuana cards, it has an extensive history of medical use. And the future looks even brighter.
Where does alcohol fit into all of this?
Nowhere. Alcohol is not a drug according to Congress and the state department. I suppose this helps out those in the wine, beer and liquor concerns. If it was considered a drug, it would most certainly have to be considered Schedule I. It is more fatal than most everything else and it really has no medicinal value.
I am sure you heard in school that the very state of alcohol intoxication is nothing more than swallowing just enough poison to feel different but not kill yourself. THC, on the other hand, does a bang up job of helping me sleep soundly through the night, eat enough to maintain a respectable weight and keep my brain from turning to molasses.
To make Delta 9 THC legal everywhere but still leave it on the DEA’s Schedule I is one of the most ridiculous things this country has done.( I mean, next to allowing men to make health decisions for women and making a fat old man with a bad combover a cult figure.) The list goes LSD, Angel Dust, Ecstasy, heroin, peyote and marijuana.
I won’t even comment on that list. I will allow you to come to your own conclusions.
I will conclude thus: If I can not find a job that doesn’t require me to drive a semi, I will make a concerted effort to go 100% drug and alcohol free. It won’t be too difficult, seeing as how one contingency in getting back to work is most certainly going to be 4 or 5 random pee tests per month. And you can bet your ass it’ll be every Monday. One more dirty test and I am history with Yellow Freight. That goes for the test next week and the one they might give me 15 years from now. There is no statute of limitations on that pendulum swinging over my head.
If, however, I get a job in freight brokering or sales or supervising a dock, I will eat my gummies, maintain 140 lbs, sleep a solid seven hours every night and live happily ever after.
Somehow, though, I’d be lying if I said I believe that’ll happen. Jobs are scarce right now and Class A drivers are some of the only workers left that are still in demand.
Or at least the ones who do shots of tequila every night.
Ugh.....so much mystery in the unknown, sorry for the ultra sucky week and situation. I feel like this is the decade, our 50's, where our confidence has finally caught up with our skill set. Puts us in a better place to say, "you know what, f*ck it, comfort zones just aren't as appealing anymore." Steady paychecks bring security but sanity gets lost in the mix, all too often. Cheers to allowing the universe to speak loudly, guiding you (& each of us) into the next chapter. THC>Tequila :)