The Search for Drugs
Fall, 1998. London, England
One of my 4 classes in my 12-credit 3-days-per-week course schedule was a creative writing class. I wrote the story about a pipe bursting in our flat, and my grade was shitty. This paper below changed my writing grade from shitty to an A, and so this style developed in my writing with such positive feedback given...
After an exciting evening of battling a great flood in our kitchen, a few flatmates decided that tonight would be a good night to smoke some pot. For the last several weeks, our only vice had been the several trips to the pub and more-than-usual amounts of drinking. I personally felt that I was drinking a bit too often, and I was getting sick of going to the pubs and wasting so much money on drinks. Besides that, the feeling of being drunk was getting old, and another (more fun) altered state was needed. So it was decided that some good old green was an acceptable answer.
The problem was that in the several weeks that we had been in London, we had been unable to make any sort of connections to get pot. One flatmate once said that while he was walking though Piccadilly Circus he had been approached by a shady looking guy near Planet Hollywood and offered marijuana. He told us about the interaction.
"'Twenty pounds,' he told me. I just kept walking and then I heard him shout 'ten pounds!' I walked back to see what he had said and he told me that he'd sell me some for 5 pounds. I wasn't interested so we left." We decided that Piccadilly Circus was the place to go.
Unfortunately, most of my pot-smoking roommates were all talk and wouldn't go on the excursion. Perhaps their pot smoking caused amotivational syndrome and they were unable to deal with two adventures in one night. At any rate, I finally got a non-pothead to come along for company on the 20 minute tube ride to Piccadilly, and we were on our way.
We got to Piccadilly at it was about 2300. We knew that the tube stopped running a little after midnight, so we were on a time constraint. We knew it would be a challenge as all we had to go on was the Planet Hollywood myth. The thought did cross my mind several times that it would be quite sketchy buying pot from some shady character in front of a tourist trap like Planet Hollywood, but it might have to do. About a week before, while I was buying a pair of shoes at Camden Town Market, the two shoe salesmen were having a discussion.
"The other night I got my dad so stoned. It was quite funny," he laughed to his friend. "Shortly after we were finished, he lied down on the couch and fell right asleep!" After hearing this conversation, I knew they were cool, so I asked them where a good place would be to find pot.
"There is a reputable drug-dealing establishment, if there is such a thing, in central London. I don't quite remember the name of it, or what street it is on." After hearing this bit of very useful advice, he then told me, "But don't buy anything from people on the street. It certainly won't be of the quality you are used to, and it will probably be very expensive." This advice stuck in my head as we searched for pot in Piccadilly, and it added to my reluctance to buy drugs from a random pusher on the street formed by common sense.
We finally got to Piccadilly Circus and walked to street level. We decided that perhaps we should try Soho instead of Planet Hollywood. We felt that Soho's reputation preceded it in such matters as being the underbelly of London, so it was a good place to start our search for such demonic and criminal activities as selling marijuana. We walked toward Soho and it was crazy.
Hoards of people everywhere
Clubs with queues out the door and around the corner
Cars parked in every direction including diagonally on street corners
Angry motorists waving fists and laying on car horns
Stumbling drunks falling on each other with slurred speech
People driving their cars at lunatic speed to deter careless pedestrians
Sex shops and strip clubs
Hookers in tight clothes
Dirty old men trying to lure young lads into spending their hard earned cash on peep shows
Dirty and sketchy looking back alleys with dingy bars and porn shops
The most liberal area I'd seen
But not even Soho would openly advertise illegal drugs
We walked for about 20 minutes. We were quite distraught to find all of this activity but no sign of what we were looking for. If sex was your vice, you were in luck. If getting piss drunk to the point of not being able to function in society was what you wanted, then this was the place to go. But if you wanted to buy some bud to toke on in the privacy of your own flat, it wasn't going to be quite that easy.
We came to a street corner where a bloke was handing out leaflets to go to one of the many clubs in the area. I assumed he was a local (an assumption that is hard to make in this town), so I asked him where might be a good place to buy pot.
"There is almost always some bloke walking around trying to sell it. I could stand here on the street corner for a while and get it offered to me several times a night. Your best bet might be to just pick a busy corner and stand there." We decided t hat though it was about 2330, we might as well go back to the corner near Planet Hollywood and wait. When we got there, my flatmate stopped into McDonalds to get us each a 35p ice cream cone, the best deal in London, and I waited in vain on the corner.
There was a man doing portraits on the corner and I asked him for some advice on finding pot. He immediately lifted his finger and pointed behind me, "Soho." So, we decided before we went back, we might as well make one more run through Soho. We walked along past a group of people sitting in the street and my flatmate suddenly thought that he smelled something.
"Do you smell that?"
"Smell what?"
"That smells like pot smoke."
"Let me check it out." So I went back and talked to them. A short, red-haired, fiery-eyed, unattractive English girl introduced herself as Sash. "I know of a place we can go. You're from America, right? I am from England. I know of this place. I am a bit pissed tonight, so I'll take you there on the condition that we smoke some a little after we get it, and you play me a game of pool." I was a bit hesitant, and time was of the essence. We couldn't possibly be sitting around toking it up while the last tube left for home. My flatmate brought it to my attention that we should just go along, then when we got it, jet. So that was the plan, and I told her sure.
I made it clear that we had to leave soon, but she dilly-dallied and slowly said goodbye to her friends. Then, she told us that the place was right up the street..."a two minute walk." So we began to walk and talk. She told me that the stuff I will find here is alright.
"The best place to go for pot is Camden Town, but this place is probably the best you'll find on the west end of town." I made it clear also that I didn't really want to spend more than £8. She told me that would be no problem.
I had no idea where we were going. For all I knew, she could have been leading us to the pits of hell, or worse yet, the police station. I certainly didn't trust this strange chick leading us for what seemed like miles through the seediest parts of London. However, this was our last hope of finding anything. It was quite an odd situation. We were dealing with something completely illegal in a foreign land. The thought was kinda disturbing that if we were to get caught with any sort of illegal drug, it would not be cool. However, I must admit that this fear was sort of exciting in a way. It was almost like the uncertainty that I felt when I smoked pot for the first few times in odd public places because I didn't have my own apartment or safe place to do it. I knew in the back of my mind also that that I could back out at any given moment.
Finally, we came to a back alley. Then in front of me unfolded the most bizarre set of events I'd seen since being in London. It was even more bizarre than the changing of the guard. We saw a queue outside of this random unmarked door of the back alley. A bloke knocked on it, and out came 7 people. Then, in went 7 more, including the three of us. We were greeted by a group of Afro-Carribean blokes that seemed to run the place.
"You got a membership card? They are two pounds and you get them from him." Another man in the corner showed us a card. "The Social Club," it reads.
"We'll get one the next time. These two blokes just want to see if they like it, then they'll get a membership card next time," said Sash.
"Alright, next time," said the bouncer.
We walked past a large cloak room toward a set of stairs. We ascended the stairs to the second floor. Once on the second floor, we were overwhelmed by a cloud of smoke. We where then presented with three options. To the right was a large pool hall with several snooker tables. To the left there was a sign: "The Relaxation Room." In the room I saw flashing lights though the smoke, and several people sitting along the wall staring into space. Sash told us that in the relaxation room, people thr ow all their pot into one communal pile and just keep smoking and smoking and smoking. It was getting close to midnight, and we needed to get moving. There was one more set of steps guarded by another set of blokes. The number of people was regulated t o get up this set of stairs by a man at the bottom. Only one of any group were allowed to go up at a time. So I went up, as this was finally where the drugs were sold.
I got to the top and was greeted by another black man sitting next to a door. He asked me what I wanted and took my money. He then relayed this information to a man on the other side of the door. He then slid my cash through a mail slot in the d oor and gave it to the man. Then, magically, out popped the drugs and I was on my way after a hearty "Cheers" from the dealer's assistant.
I then descended the steps to the second floor. When I got there, I only saw my flatmate who immediately said "Did you get it?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Then let's go!"
Sash was nowhere in sight, and though I felt extremely bad about it, there was no time left. I decided that I would smoke her up next time, and we bolted down the stairs to catch our train. We got to the exit door which had a sign.
Please wait here
And someone will open the door
For you
We waited, and a bloke opened the door and reminded us, "Put everything away!" Suddenly, we were on our way home. We caught the tube and made it home for a interesting end to an interesting day which included smoking it up for the first time in s everal weeks.
I later reflected on the Social Club. I had never seen anything like it. It was like a pub. People got together, hung out, did their thing. Only, instead of serving alcohol, the place served pot. It was quite interesting. The people all seemed very friendly, and the club was very well organised. Everything from the number of people allowed into the club at any one time, to the efficient method of dealing the drugs, to the simple yet effective method of segregating the activities by floors. I could imagine if such a place were legal, it might be a fun place to chill. I certainly wouldn't feel comfortable hanging out there now for the sole reason of illegality. If the place were to get busted, I for one would be quite fucked. However, it d id serve as a somewhat standardised source for pot, and probably had pot of better quality than some shady character in front of Planet Hollywood. Though, at the time, I may have been satisfied to live with such a source.
I guess it just goes to show that London is a city that you could find anything your heart desires if you are willing to look hard enough. There is a group of people somewhere doing something that you may have never thought of, or something you've thought of but could never imagine in practice.
Strange days have found us
Strange days have tracked us down
They're going to destroy our casual joys
We shall go on playing or find a new town Strange eyes fill strange rooms
Voices will signal their tired end
The hostess is grinning
Her guests sleep from sinning
Hear me talk of sin and you know this is it Strange days have found us
And through their strange hours we linger alone
Bodies confused, memories misused
As we run from the day to a strange night of stone - Jim Morrison
An interesting footnote to this story: the Social Club was busted toward the end of the semester… It was one of the bigger drug busts in recent London history.
One of my 4 classes in my 12-credit 3-days-per-week course schedule was a creative writing class. I wrote the story about a pipe bursting in our flat, and my grade was shitty. This paper below changed my writing grade from shitty to an A, and so this style developed in my writing with such positive feedback given...
After an exciting evening of battling a great flood in our kitchen, a few flatmates decided that tonight would be a good night to smoke some pot. For the last several weeks, our only vice had been the several trips to the pub and more-than-usual amounts of drinking. I personally felt that I was drinking a bit too often, and I was getting sick of going to the pubs and wasting so much money on drinks. Besides that, the feeling of being drunk was getting old, and another (more fun) altered state was needed. So it was decided that some good old green was an acceptable answer.
The problem was that in the several weeks that we had been in London, we had been unable to make any sort of connections to get pot. One flatmate once said that while he was walking though Piccadilly Circus he had been approached by a shady looking guy near Planet Hollywood and offered marijuana. He told us about the interaction.
"'Twenty pounds,' he told me. I just kept walking and then I heard him shout 'ten pounds!' I walked back to see what he had said and he told me that he'd sell me some for 5 pounds. I wasn't interested so we left." We decided that Piccadilly Circus was the place to go.
Unfortunately, most of my pot-smoking roommates were all talk and wouldn't go on the excursion. Perhaps their pot smoking caused amotivational syndrome and they were unable to deal with two adventures in one night. At any rate, I finally got a non-pothead to come along for company on the 20 minute tube ride to Piccadilly, and we were on our way.
We got to Piccadilly at it was about 2300. We knew that the tube stopped running a little after midnight, so we were on a time constraint. We knew it would be a challenge as all we had to go on was the Planet Hollywood myth. The thought did cross my mind several times that it would be quite sketchy buying pot from some shady character in front of a tourist trap like Planet Hollywood, but it might have to do. About a week before, while I was buying a pair of shoes at Camden Town Market, the two shoe salesmen were having a discussion.
"The other night I got my dad so stoned. It was quite funny," he laughed to his friend. "Shortly after we were finished, he lied down on the couch and fell right asleep!" After hearing this conversation, I knew they were cool, so I asked them where a good place would be to find pot.
"There is a reputable drug-dealing establishment, if there is such a thing, in central London. I don't quite remember the name of it, or what street it is on." After hearing this bit of very useful advice, he then told me, "But don't buy anything from people on the street. It certainly won't be of the quality you are used to, and it will probably be very expensive." This advice stuck in my head as we searched for pot in Piccadilly, and it added to my reluctance to buy drugs from a random pusher on the street formed by common sense.
We finally got to Piccadilly Circus and walked to street level. We decided that perhaps we should try Soho instead of Planet Hollywood. We felt that Soho's reputation preceded it in such matters as being the underbelly of London, so it was a good place to start our search for such demonic and criminal activities as selling marijuana. We walked toward Soho and it was crazy.
Hoards of people everywhere
Clubs with queues out the door and around the corner
Cars parked in every direction including diagonally on street corners
Angry motorists waving fists and laying on car horns
Stumbling drunks falling on each other with slurred speech
People driving their cars at lunatic speed to deter careless pedestrians
Sex shops and strip clubs
Hookers in tight clothes
Dirty old men trying to lure young lads into spending their hard earned cash on peep shows
Dirty and sketchy looking back alleys with dingy bars and porn shops
The most liberal area I'd seen
But not even Soho would openly advertise illegal drugs
We walked for about 20 minutes. We were quite distraught to find all of this activity but no sign of what we were looking for. If sex was your vice, you were in luck. If getting piss drunk to the point of not being able to function in society was what you wanted, then this was the place to go. But if you wanted to buy some bud to toke on in the privacy of your own flat, it wasn't going to be quite that easy.
We came to a street corner where a bloke was handing out leaflets to go to one of the many clubs in the area. I assumed he was a local (an assumption that is hard to make in this town), so I asked him where might be a good place to buy pot.
"There is almost always some bloke walking around trying to sell it. I could stand here on the street corner for a while and get it offered to me several times a night. Your best bet might be to just pick a busy corner and stand there." We decided t hat though it was about 2330, we might as well go back to the corner near Planet Hollywood and wait. When we got there, my flatmate stopped into McDonalds to get us each a 35p ice cream cone, the best deal in London, and I waited in vain on the corner.
There was a man doing portraits on the corner and I asked him for some advice on finding pot. He immediately lifted his finger and pointed behind me, "Soho." So, we decided before we went back, we might as well make one more run through Soho. We walked along past a group of people sitting in the street and my flatmate suddenly thought that he smelled something.
"Do you smell that?"
"Smell what?"
"That smells like pot smoke."
"Let me check it out." So I went back and talked to them. A short, red-haired, fiery-eyed, unattractive English girl introduced herself as Sash. "I know of a place we can go. You're from America, right? I am from England. I know of this place. I am a bit pissed tonight, so I'll take you there on the condition that we smoke some a little after we get it, and you play me a game of pool." I was a bit hesitant, and time was of the essence. We couldn't possibly be sitting around toking it up while the last tube left for home. My flatmate brought it to my attention that we should just go along, then when we got it, jet. So that was the plan, and I told her sure.
I made it clear that we had to leave soon, but she dilly-dallied and slowly said goodbye to her friends. Then, she told us that the place was right up the street..."a two minute walk." So we began to walk and talk. She told me that the stuff I will find here is alright.
"The best place to go for pot is Camden Town, but this place is probably the best you'll find on the west end of town." I made it clear also that I didn't really want to spend more than £8. She told me that would be no problem.
I had no idea where we were going. For all I knew, she could have been leading us to the pits of hell, or worse yet, the police station. I certainly didn't trust this strange chick leading us for what seemed like miles through the seediest parts of London. However, this was our last hope of finding anything. It was quite an odd situation. We were dealing with something completely illegal in a foreign land. The thought was kinda disturbing that if we were to get caught with any sort of illegal drug, it would not be cool. However, I must admit that this fear was sort of exciting in a way. It was almost like the uncertainty that I felt when I smoked pot for the first few times in odd public places because I didn't have my own apartment or safe place to do it. I knew in the back of my mind also that that I could back out at any given moment.
Finally, we came to a back alley. Then in front of me unfolded the most bizarre set of events I'd seen since being in London. It was even more bizarre than the changing of the guard. We saw a queue outside of this random unmarked door of the back alley. A bloke knocked on it, and out came 7 people. Then, in went 7 more, including the three of us. We were greeted by a group of Afro-Carribean blokes that seemed to run the place.
"You got a membership card? They are two pounds and you get them from him." Another man in the corner showed us a card. "The Social Club," it reads.
"We'll get one the next time. These two blokes just want to see if they like it, then they'll get a membership card next time," said Sash.
"Alright, next time," said the bouncer.
We walked past a large cloak room toward a set of stairs. We ascended the stairs to the second floor. Once on the second floor, we were overwhelmed by a cloud of smoke. We where then presented with three options. To the right was a large pool hall with several snooker tables. To the left there was a sign: "The Relaxation Room." In the room I saw flashing lights though the smoke, and several people sitting along the wall staring into space. Sash told us that in the relaxation room, people thr ow all their pot into one communal pile and just keep smoking and smoking and smoking. It was getting close to midnight, and we needed to get moving. There was one more set of steps guarded by another set of blokes. The number of people was regulated t o get up this set of stairs by a man at the bottom. Only one of any group were allowed to go up at a time. So I went up, as this was finally where the drugs were sold.
I got to the top and was greeted by another black man sitting next to a door. He asked me what I wanted and took my money. He then relayed this information to a man on the other side of the door. He then slid my cash through a mail slot in the d oor and gave it to the man. Then, magically, out popped the drugs and I was on my way after a hearty "Cheers" from the dealer's assistant.
I then descended the steps to the second floor. When I got there, I only saw my flatmate who immediately said "Did you get it?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Then let's go!"
Sash was nowhere in sight, and though I felt extremely bad about it, there was no time left. I decided that I would smoke her up next time, and we bolted down the stairs to catch our train. We got to the exit door which had a sign.
Please wait here
And someone will open the door
For you
We waited, and a bloke opened the door and reminded us, "Put everything away!" Suddenly, we were on our way home. We caught the tube and made it home for a interesting end to an interesting day which included smoking it up for the first time in s everal weeks.
I later reflected on the Social Club. I had never seen anything like it. It was like a pub. People got together, hung out, did their thing. Only, instead of serving alcohol, the place served pot. It was quite interesting. The people all seemed very friendly, and the club was very well organised. Everything from the number of people allowed into the club at any one time, to the efficient method of dealing the drugs, to the simple yet effective method of segregating the activities by floors. I could imagine if such a place were legal, it might be a fun place to chill. I certainly wouldn't feel comfortable hanging out there now for the sole reason of illegality. If the place were to get busted, I for one would be quite fucked. However, it d id serve as a somewhat standardised source for pot, and probably had pot of better quality than some shady character in front of Planet Hollywood. Though, at the time, I may have been satisfied to live with such a source.
I guess it just goes to show that London is a city that you could find anything your heart desires if you are willing to look hard enough. There is a group of people somewhere doing something that you may have never thought of, or something you've thought of but could never imagine in practice.
Strange days have found us
Strange days have tracked us down
They're going to destroy our casual joys
We shall go on playing or find a new town Strange eyes fill strange rooms
Voices will signal their tired end
The hostess is grinning
Her guests sleep from sinning
Hear me talk of sin and you know this is it Strange days have found us
And through their strange hours we linger alone
Bodies confused, memories misused
As we run from the day to a strange night of stone - Jim Morrison
An interesting footnote to this story: the Social Club was busted toward the end of the semester… It was one of the bigger drug busts in recent London history.
Copyright © 2013 Russell
