Sunday, April 18, 2010

Story #76 - Untitled, by Lewis Kelly - MBD #18

Today we have another contributor to the Month of Bad Decisions: Lewis Kelly! Lewis was born in Calgary, grew up in Edmonton, and now lives in Vancouver, where he allegedly studies Journalism. You can read his writing at his blog, Shark Sandwich. He has written a story today for you, and has indicated that he wants to do something cool for the site in the future. He is a good person! Enjoy his story!

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Untitled
by Lewis Kelly

I wanted to live in the land of bad decisions. In order to live in the land of bad decisions, you have to make some bad decisions.

The problem was, I couldn't make any bad decisions -- or, rather, I couldn't make one particular bad decision that I very much wanted to make.

It all started one day when I realized that when I have kids, if I ever have kids, I'll want to have some wild exploits with which to regale them while they are dandied about on knees and so on. I wanted to have a cooler stories than “kids, let me tell you about the time Dad was a regional finalist in the Annual Alberta Scrabble Showdown” or “hey, that reminds me of this craaaaazy viola recital I saw once at the Carnegie.”

So I thought, what's cool? Obvious answer: drugs. And so I set out to buy some. I didn't have any particular sort in mind. I just wanted to create some great stories to tell my kids. These drugs will be an investment in my future, I thought.

One of the first challenges the burgeoning narcotics enthusiast encounters is the fact that no drug dealer will ever, ever have a straightforward conversation about the goods they purvey. They just lounge around in dark glasses making oblique reference to their products. While this makes it harder for law enforcement to obtain iron-clad legal evidence against them, it also leads to exchanges like the ones I began having with these trench-coated men of ill repute.

“I hear you're a good person to talk to about, you know, white.”

“Yeah, man. For you, special price.”

And then five minutes later I'd be walking away with a small plastic bag of what would turn out to be icing sugar, or baking soda, or, one time, both. One time, I tried asking for benzoylmethylecogonine, but the guy just looked at me like I had grown a third eye and then walked off muttering something about gentrification.

The whole project seemed doomed to failure until one night I was arrested for buying what turned out to be the world's most expensive sea salt. I spent the night in the holding cells, which I shared with two gentlemen named Stubbs and Tyrone. It was an educational evening.

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