CLANCY OVERELL | Editor | CONTACT
A visit to a local weed dealer has this week confirmed all stereotypes about this particular line of work.
Betoota Heights man, Bretto (28), had not purchased cannabis since high school – and had really hoped the herb would be legalised before he ever had to sit on a drug dealers couch again.
However, with a stoner cousin visiting from out of state, Bretto has had to make sure a stash of that sticky icky will be waiting on arrival – before the withdrawals kick in and his docile relative starts getting stressed about meaningless issues.
It’s for this reason he’s had to approach the 19-year-old security officer who guards the front of his office building in the CBD, and find out where to get his hands on a phone number.
And true to suburban Australian weed culture, his new contact refuses to deliver.
This means Bretto needs to go visit some blokes house and sit amongst the Glen 20 soaked squalor while some bloke’s missus watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine at full volume on the couch next to him.
“Things have not changed” he tells The Betoota Advocate.
“I went through these same paces a decade ago”
“Same missus wearing pyjama pants and ugg boots. Same random acquaintance sitting opposite me playing on his phone”
“Same novelty glass bong on the table. Same samurai sword on the wall”
However, as Bretto points out, the most consistent character trait of every schedule 2 drug dealer in the country is the extravagant fish tank in the middle of the living room.
“He’s not fucking around with the exotic fish” says Bretto.
“I don’t know how much that fucking thing costs but it’s gotta be worth more than the home theatre system”
“And it’s very well maintained. He must just punch cones and whip out the siphon vaccum once or twice a week”
“His fucking couch could use the same kind of attention just quietly”
As Bretto sits on the couch for the best part of an hour, while his new plug takes a never-ending phone call in the toilet before returning to the living room in a completely new outfit with a 50 of weed in his hands, he can’t help but notice that the fish are living better than anyone else in this decrepit trap house.
“There was an empty packet of smokes on the coffee table that were obviously from before plain packaging legislation” he says.
“Not to mention the Pringles can between the sofa cushions. I don’t even know how you’d get that in there”
“I feel like the fish wouldn’t have to worry about living alongiside multiple empty takeaway containers filled to brim with ciggy butts”