I could see the disdain in your eyes as soon as you waved my friend and I through the door. and then again as you tried to use words you thought I wouldn't understand like 'terpenes' and 'pinine' because I'm "obviously" just some stupid kid who's buying weed without the intense,deep and mystical understanding and respect that you have for it. Your absolute and total judgement of me was clear when you told me I wouldn't find anything similar to a strain I asked about because "The high comes from here" you said, as you touched your heart, full of self importance. We are the flip side, we're the people who've bought it that aren't alt/fringy/hippie/hangers-on. We've been purchasing from the same dealers all along, you just wanted to pretend that the yuppie kids you liked to side eye didn't exist. Look, O mystical master of marijuana, I'm trying to buy a product that you're selling. You aren't a shaman, this ain't a sweat-lodge and if you thought vodka was sacred I'd advise you not to work in a liquor store.
You're Not a Priestess, This Isn't a Temple
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