So we spent some time in Oregon last weekend.
And now I could talk about our lovely brunch at Tasty N Son’s in Portland, the scenic drive to Eugene, the beautiful vineyards, all the blah blah blah blog appropriate stuff.
Or I could dive into the part of the story I really want to talk about. Which begins in a cannabis store at 3:00 p.m. on a Friday, and ends just a few short hours later with me sitting at a table unable to talk to anyone around me as I was certain I was A. invisible or B. attending a play. And you don’t interact with people at a play, because they’re in a play! And you’re just an audience member. A very high audience member who probably shouldn’t eat edibles, because as it turns out, those magic little candies hit quite hard.
Which story should we go with? Part 1? Or part edible? I think we all know. And before you want to cast judgment, you can spare me. I’m an adult and it was perfectly legal. So when in Rome.
But truthfully, I didn’t go to Oregon with the intention to hit up a dispensary. It just not something I really care about. I’m not bothered by people who enjoy a little marijuana, it’s simply not my thing. My body is about 20 minutes from falling asleep at any given time as it is, so the last thing I need is something to chill me out even more.
Until it was last Friday at 2:00 p.m. and I was in the middle of a rather large group of Nebraska people gathered at a brewery in Eugene. Some people I knew, some people not so much. I don’t get nervous with large groups, I just get uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with small talk, to be specific. I just can’t do it. I look at those of you who can (like Chris) and I’m in awe at how easy you make it look.
Because when I give it a try it just feels so awkward and unnatural. I choke on my words, or talk over your words, worry I take too long to respond; the list of things going through my head while I sit “quietly” in whatever corner I’ve found are endless. I’m also aware how I tend to come off to others who are just meeting me- stand-offish… cold… rude… stuck up… (which doesn’t help the uneasiness.) Again, what I’m talking about here doesn’t keep me from going out in social situations by any means, it simply keeps me in my safe corner. Which I don’t always mind, until I do.
And that’s when I looked across the street and noticed a friendly Eugene edible store.
What a good way to band-aid my uncomfortableness I thought to myself, as the people around me continued to say things we introverts love to hear.
You’re super quiet! Are you okay? What’s wrong? Do you have a headache?
“You know what? I do have a headache,” I said. And then I walked across the street to self medicate.
The dispensary was clean and nice. Run by a friendly staff, just like every person we met in Oregon last weekend.
“What are you in the mood for?” The man behind the counter asked.
“A new personality,” I joked.
“Would you like to be chill or a little more active?”
“Let’s go with active!”
He gave me a blueberry gummy, something he said was, “super light and easy. You could take this before work and still be fine.”
How perfect! And without a second thought, I ate the candy and went on my merry way.
I would later realize me and dispensary-man had different ideas of what work means, at least that’s what I said to the rooster in the backyard of our AirBnB four hours later, whilst sitting in the chicken coop. Alone. Once again.
I was too nervous to go back inside because that play was going on in the kitchen. And last time I was in there (just quietly watching the theatrical conversations unfold before me) someone turned to me and asked me to participate. IN THE PLAY. But I hadn’t been given a script so I had no idea what to say.
So I just sat quietly and giggled, trying my best to avoid contact with the person sitting next to me, hoping if I didn’t answer they’d go on to another audience member.
But they pressed on.
“Taylor? Hello? So, are you coming to supper or not?”
Why is play man talking to me? And ohmygod what is supper? Suppppur. I haven’t heard that word forever. This must be a Midwest play! How fun. Supper. Sup. Per. Sounds like SUP, Perr. Perrrr. Purrrr. Purrr. I can roll my tongue.
I have a tongue!
And that’s when I figured out I was purring out loud. Had I interrupted the play? Why was everyone staring at me? Or were they?
When did human eyes get so big? Is everyone laughing at me? Am I laughing? Laughing is weird! Why do we do it?
I couldn’t be sure of anything, so I decided it would be best to close my eyes and tip-toe out of the room backward, hands held to my chest like a T-Rex, or a tiny quiet mouse. In doing so, I was sure no one in the kitchen would notice me leaving. Seemed like the most logical thing to do at the time.
And I found the chicken coop comforting.
The little animal sitting on the wire was like a little dog. With wings. And a beak. With a puffed out chest. Or like a …. oh my God no, MOTHMAN.
The candies turned on me at that point. So no, I didn’t make it to supper. Instead, I made it to bed by about 7:30 p.m. fully clothed, (because changing into pjs just wasn’t worth the risk.) What risk you may be wondering? I honestly had no idea, I just knew there were probably a lot of them.
In hindsight, eating edibles while on a family vacation wasn’t the best idea after all. But I can say that I learned a very important lesson from it all; and that’s to stay away from the blueberries in Oregon. Going forward, I’ll stick to brunch and Bloodys.
*there was never a play. so if you didn’t understand any of this, congrats on making better life choices than me.*