When I was offered the chance to deliver pot for a weed delivery service, I had to accept the job. I always wanted to be cool, and I imagined coolness seeped out of drug dealers' pores. As a delivery service guy, I would be apathetic to society’s laws, connected, and possibly—hell, likely—dangerous. It was a dream come true. Unfortunately, within a year of playing “the game,” I never jogged in the opposite direction of a cop, let alone spat in morality's face. That’s because being a drug delivery service guy wasn’t cool. It fucking sucked.

Like most jobs I have taken in desperation, I was severely unqualified to deliver pot. I have ingested marijuana four times in my life, and each time was so distinctly unpleasant that I will happily die without smoking weed again. But a friend of mine solicited hardcore drugs for a Manhattan drug kingpin, who was looking for a new pot delivery guy. My friend encouraged me to try out for the job.

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