As you may, or may not be aware, I have recently begun to make a name for myself as a journalist. After visiting Dogecon SF I began writing and publishing articles on cryptocurrency in general, and on Potcoin in particular. I chose Potcoin because I’m a cannabis enthusiast, and because it seemed like an interesting concept, a crypto devoted to a specific industry. So, when I heard that reps from the Potcoin Dev team would be attending the San Francisco Cannabis Cup, sponsored by High Times, I figured it would be a good idea to put in an appearance.
The legendary event.
The clincher on the deal was that Russell Thomas, the Chief Information Officer of Potcoin extended me a personal invitation to hang out at Booth 42, the Potcoin tent. Naturally I couldn’t resist, and I resolved to head on out and check on the festivities. First things first, however, I had to head to Oakland and get my recently-expired medical authorization renewed.
I checked the Google for the closest doctor and found the closest one that was open at 9:30 am on a Saturday. After gathering my camera and assorted gear, I moved out to go see the Doctor. The lobby was pretty straightforward, a mostly vacant space with a few pen-and-ink drawings on the wall, some cannabis-related magazines on a rack, and one or two business cards left behind for potential customers. Strangely, one of them was for a Chevy dealership. Not surprisingly, the reverse side of the card displayed a 2014 Camaro, an indication of the clientele they intend to attract, I suppose.
If no one in this photo owns a Camaro I will be shocked.
There were four other people waiting, a male-female couple and a pair of twenty-something men, all of whom were in town for the Cannabis Cup. While I waited for my opportunity to see the doctor I struck up conversation with the two young men and learned they were glass merchants who had developed a bong that also served as a drink dispenser. I handed them a business card and told them to give me a call when we all got to the Cup.
Then it was my turn to see the doctor and I must say, now I understand why no one takes California’s Medical Marijuana laws seriously. My patient information form only had the bare minimum questions on it (presumably for my protection) and the Doctor was seen via a Skype call on a laptop set up on a desk in the treatment office.
The doctor couldn’t make it, you see, as he was driving at the time. Fortunately he kept his hands on the wheel during out two minute conversation where he asked me about my medical condition (back pain), and whether cannabis worked for my pain or not.
And that quickly I was authorized by a medical doctor here in California to use cannabis as a medical treatment. Welcome to the 21st Century.
Well, not really, but still.
The next step was to make the 90 minute drive to the Sonoma County Fairgrounds and the famous High Times Cannabis Cup. I didn’t have a ticket, but that wasn’t going to be a problem since Russ had a spare vendor pass that he was going to use to help me gain entry. After arriving on-site I gave him a call, but had to leave a message on his cell. Not trusting cell phone reception, I decided to go talk to one of the people at the Will Call booth. A few minutes of charm later, and I was entering the fairgrounds, seeking out booth 42.
Upon entering the Fairgrounds I learned that there were two separate areas, the outer ring and an inner ring dubbed the Medicated Area. One thing that I didn’t notice at the time, and would come into play later in this story, is that pretty much all of the food vendors were OUTSIDE the Medicated Area. And none of the places INSIDE the Medicated Area were selling anything that wasn’t pot-related, especially water.
Finding the Potcoin tent wasn’t especially hard, and after I introduced myself they told me that Russ had already left looking for me. Checking my phone I wasn’t overly surprised to learn that (once again) it had failed me, and there were no missed calls. (Thanks AT&T, keep up the good work.)
Pretty much sums it up.
A few minutes later Russ was back on scene, and he immediately busied himself handing out Potcoin T-shirts and Potcards loaded with 100 units each. The tent was pretty busy, so while Russ was handling customer service, I decided to go get some water. IT was a good idea, unfortunately I should have thought of it a lot sooner.
Within minutes of exiting the relatively cool shaded area underneath the Potcoin pavillion I found myself back in the heat and suddenly, without warning, I found that I was lost. And thirsty.
I have been trained in the military, and I studied martial arts for three years, I know how important proper hydration is. And yet, for some bizarre reason, I hadn’t had a single drop of water since I left my house at 10 am, four hours earlier. And suddenly, I had a stronger thirst than I have ever known in my entire life.
Everything had become a blur, my mind was focused on one task, finding water. My lips were shrinking, I could feel them drying out, shrinking against my face as I searched for WATER, the only thing on earth that had any importance to me any longer. My brain decided that maybe I wasn’t fully focused the task at hand, so it provided me with some assistance, an auditory hallucination that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in the Boondocks.
She was more like a female Robert Freeman, but you get the idea.
I cannot stress enough how serious I am, this may sound funny, but I was fucking hallucinating. A 60+ year old crazy black cartoon grandma set up shop in my head and encouraged me to FIND WATER. She made absolutely sure that I did not stop moving, stop searching for that precious resource.
Through the haze I spotted a red and yellow wagon that promised to sell Giant Corn Dogs and, while I couldn’t give less than a fuck about those under normal circumstances, right at that moment they were simply an indication that I could find WATER there. After all, if they are selling food, they must have beverages, right? Working on this logic I immediately moved to this Shrine of Salvation and, as politely as I could, asked for water.
You’re goddamn right.
Gauging by the reaction I received from the useless shitbags inside the place you would have thought I asked for a vodka tonic or a bag of meth. They did not immediately react, is what I’m getting at. So I had to ask again, making sure they understood that if I did not get water, I was going to DIE. In fact, the exact phrase I used was “If you do not give me some water, right now, I will die. I am in an advanced state of dehydration.”
Maybe I should have asked for that vodka tonic, I don’t know. What I do know is, that after first telling me there was no water to be found, someone (they didn’t have faces) managed to procure one of those 4 ounce clear plastic cups and filled it from a tap that was part of a stainless steel sink.
Without fear of contradiction I will tell you that water immediately saved my fucking life. As soon as it touched my parched, shriveled lips and tongue, I could feel my body absorbing it and refreshing itself. It wasn’t ENOUGH, however, and the voice in my head kept exhorting me to get more, as much as I could possibly drink. So I asked for another cup of water and…the fucking shithead inside panicked and ran off leaving his fat, idiotic partner to deal with the crazy person who was babbling about being dehydrated and imminent danger of death.
Typical crackhead behavior, I imagine.
This is where the story becomes truly surreal. Please keep in mind that, despite the fact that I was so disoriented that I couldn’t find the food area, and disregarding the cartoon voice in my head, I was still conscious enough to know that I was a heat casualty and needed immediate aid. The first thing I required, the most immediate and simplest form of first aid, was a CUP OF FUCKING WATER.
Apparently this was not covered in employee training, so the fat sack of shit inside that corn dog booth was panicking, trying to find a way to escape from this conversation without having to refill my fucking plastic cup of water. The voice in my head suggested that I climb through the window, throw this worthless pile of shit out of the way, and drink directly from the tap. A more rational part of me (not sure if it was a second voice or just primal instinct) over-ruled this incredibly appealing advice, and I just tried to rationally explain to this person that if I did not get water in the next five minutes I was going to die. This, to me, seemed like the most likely outcome and I had no problem sharing this observation because, dumbass that I am, I figured it would be a simple problem to solve.
Corn Dog says “I just started here today…I’m not authorized to make any decisions.”
“That’s fine,” I replied with the sort of calm you are only capable of when you are hallucinating and believe your life is in imminent danger. “You don’t have to make any decisions. You just have to give me some WATER.”
This did not have the desired effect, I’m sorry to say, and he just fucking babbled some idiocy about his co-worker or security or some shit. Which was fine with me, because at that moment the only thing that would have pleased me more than the Police arriving would have been getting a fucking cup of water.
While this conversation is going on, my fingers were pulsating with the flow of my blood. At least, I assume that is why they were pulsating, maybe it was because the water in my tissues was boiling from the heat of the sun, I wasn’t really sure at the time, and now I don’t know if it actually happened.
A voice behind me indicated that some form of help had arrived and I turned to find someone in a yellow t-shirt, Event Security. This Angel of Mercy looked me in the eye and said “You have to calm down, you’re creating a disturbance.”
Fair enough, I can see how that might have been problematic for them. So I explained to her that I was in a state of advanced dehydration and I needed WATER right NOW.
To which she replied that, sure, I could have all the water I needed. I just needed to leave this area.
I knew that if I moved before EMT showed up, I was going to die. So I began asking for water, and some lady walking by thrust a nearly empty bottle of water into my hands (thank you, Kind Lady, whoever you are) and I drank it immediately and went back to asking for more. Another kind (albeit stupid) lady hands me a 20 oz cup full of lemonade because apparently she thought fuck it, one beverage is pretty much like another right?
WRONG. Sugar will only make dehydration WORSE, never give someone who is dehydrating a caffeine or sugar beverage.
Seeing that I wasn’t going to leave and cease imploring people for goddamn WATER (the drug of choice for psychotics the world over) Ms. Yellow Shirt leaves me alone and some guy in his 50s comes along to talk me down.
“Thank you, can you get me some water? I am going to die if I don’t get some water NOW.” I said as clearly, and patiently, as I could.
“I understand,’ he replies in the most folksy way he could. “You just need to be more quiet.”
The voice in my head advised I knock him the fuck out and try persuading Corn Dog of how important this situation was, but I didn’t listen to her. Instead I looked Tom Skerritt right in the eye and (as calmly as I could) told him “No, you clearly do NOT understand. If you DID understand, you would be getting me some fucking water right now.”
“Sir, are you okay?” a new voice asked.
Now thoroughly lost I turned to find a group of people in blue t-shirts (and matching ball caps) but I wasn’t 100% sure if they were real or not. So, erring on the side of caution, I decided that they were real and told them “No, I am not. I am suffering from advanced dehydration. I need water, now.”
There were four of them, all just watching me quietly. Still, they were wearing blue not yellow, so they seemed legit. Later, when my senses were recovered I would see that they also had red first aid emblems on their gear also, but at the moment I was too busy feeling the pulse of my rapidly shriveling limbs to keep track of things like that.
“Come with us, we’ll take you to the First Aid tent.” one of these Blue Angels said to me.
“Are you really medical people or are you just some fake thing?” I asked numbly as I followed them, my body moving on autopilot.
“No, we’re real.” One of the others, now invisible to me, replied. Maybe it was another voice in my head, I reasoned, but fuck it. It could have been a hallucination, but since it looked like a normal human being and not a nude super model, that didn’t seem altogether likely.
As I followed the man in blue, I saw him make a sudden, crisp left turn and I felt a sudden surge of despair. His path had been so straight, so certain, and this turn so abrupt…where was he taking me? Was he ditching us? No, as it turns out, he was leading me right to the Promised Land, a pavilion with folding medical tables.
“Oh, you weren’t leaving us, you were leading us…” I babbled at him in wonder. “Such a minor difference in spelling. And yet, it makes all the difference in the world.”
This is where the story returns to being boring since all these kind, wonderful people did was give me a 20 ounce cup of water and let me drink it in the shade. Then, when I finished that, they gave me another one. Truly, these people were Angels sent down to earth.
The new symbol of Hope as far as I’m concerned.
As they watched over me they tested my faculties with various questions, and checked my vitals. During this period I could feel my legs and arms replenishing themselves from that glorious paper cup emblazoned with the Pepsi logo filled with that sweet, satisfying WATER. Sure, I couldn’t stand without falling over due to a combination of dizziness and lack of water in my limbs, but that situation wasn’t going to last much longer. The pulsing in my fingers, calves, and ankles was subsiding as my body absorbed all of that moisture so I was feeling much better.
Before I left the area I made sure to thank them for their courteous, professional manner then I headed off to get some food, and more water. I made my way back to the Potcoin tent, but I was still seriously fucked up from the lack of water so I didn’t hang out long.
I guess the moral of this story is that I love crypto so much I’m willing to die for it. Just kidding, the moral of the story is to make sure you DRINK WATER, thirsty or not.
Your life could depend on it.