(Caveat: I’m a fortysomething white guy. I mention that because this week’s column involves women, minorities, and cannabis. This means that two out of the three topics I’m writing about are ones I may not be ideally suited to address.)
From my time in New York City, I learned that weed delivery services were not uncommon, but they were damn expensive. After phoning a dispatch, a bike courier would soon arrive with a backpack of two-gram plastic containers that went for between $75 and $100. (That works out to $37.50-50 per gram, mathletes.) The products they peddled were often potent, but more often than not, they were hydroponically grown and rarely flushed properly, leaving you with cannabis that had a salty, bitter aftertaste. But the Rockefeller drug laws in New York regarding cannabis have always made acquisition of flower—top shelf or otherwise—a risky undertaking, and if anyone ever needed fast access to cannabis, it’s someone living in the five boroughs.
The new GQ has an article, “Queens of the Stoned Age,” about a weed delivery service in New York called the Green Angels. It was started by a Mormon and former model, and she brought on all women as dispatchers and couriers, many former models themselves.
