Cocaine virgin, part one
If you got bad news you want to kick them blues....
“The BUS is leaving!!! Where is KONG?!?”
Kong was upstairs in the fraternity house. The pungent smell of sweaty dude and stale beer was abound. Clothes tosses all around, crusty Kleenexes on the floor. None of this mattered to the five dudes in the room.
Cocaine is an experience. Many experience it in different ways - key bumps in bathrooms, lines off Hunter Biden’s laptop cover, fiendishly sticking fingers in a bag to get ‘nummies’. My first time doing cocaine was a ritual. I walked into the room and saw the three other guys staring at the guy cutting the lines on the desk. The credit card hitting the desk and moving the powder into lines had a rhythm. The beat of Eric Clapton’s Cocaine on repeat flowed with the ‘chop chop sweeeeeep’ of the credit card through the cocaine.
The person cutting the cocaine is someone who defines ADD. This dude is Homer Simpson running into the room with lottery tickets. Yet there he was, focused on his task of evenly distributing the crisp white powder.
I had been curious about cocaine for years. Older brothers of friends ‘dabbled’, whatever that meant. The movie Blow showed me the highs and lows of the drug trade; I knew Cocaine was a hell of a drug - but WHY? It was time to find out.
I was also at a low point in my life. My girlfriend left me for the guy she was ‘just friends with’. I was in college boyfriend shape, dad bod with a hint of NOXPLODE muscle.
My friends looked me over, slowed their chatter, gave me a head nod, and went back to half talking, half waiting for the blow to be ready.
It reminded me of a dog watching its owner cut off a piece of chicken before tossing it on the floor. This was beyond a first rodeo for the other participants.
Chop Chop Sweep, Cocainnnnnneeeeeee….Chop Chop Sweep, Cocainnnnnneeeeeee…
My pulse quickened as the five lines took shape. Sweat poured down my face. I nervously sipped my stale Keystone Light. What was this going to be like? Should I do this? How LONG had I been in this room?
KONG, you are up first. I was handed a rolled up $100 bill. Someone in college had a $100? I looked at it with big eyes. “We only use bigger bills, poor people do cocaine with $1s, $5s, $20s.” Oh.
“Make your nose a vacuum”. I had done many things, but turning my nose into a vacuum was a new one. I nodded. “Take a deep breath, close one nostril, vacuum time!” I slowly put the cash to my nose and dipped my head down. Last chance to back out. What if I OD? Is this even cocaine?
“HIT THE LINE KONG WE DO NOT HAVE ALL DAY!!!”
One of the four was yelling at me. I looked back at the other salivating dogs behind me - Apparent cocaine IS addictive. I took the nose plunge. I sucked up as hard as I could.
A breathe can be quiet to the outside world but loud inside one’s head. This was the loudest nose breath I had ever taken.
“KONG THE VACUUM CLEANER!!!”
The friendly yell sounded like a whisper. The music seemed to get louder, and louder, and louder. My nose was on fire; a sweet taste dripped down my throat. I looked up to four Cheshire cats grinning at me like Jack Nicholson in The Departed.
“Get the nummies!”
I was told to quickly lick my fingers and get all the spare cocaine from the line into the sides of my mouth. My mouth quickly went numb. I sat back down as someone else hopped up.
I rocked back and forth, taking in the sensations and the moment. Sweat POURED down my face. The music FILLED my head. I watched the others go up and back down, having a similar experience. How LONG had I been in the room? I thought the bus was leaving in 15? Was this ONLY 15 minutes?!? And WHY was I not listen to Eric Clapton more often? This songs BANGS.
Someone burst into the room.
“DUDES, we are LEAVING! LET’S GO!!!”
I LEAPT up from my chair. The dude left the room. An arm went on my shoulder. “That dude is always wrong. We’ve got time for one more.” ONE MORE?!?
The ritual repeated at a quickened pace. I watched the others watch the line cutter do his work. Same card, same chop chop sweep…same song. The next five minutes felt like like an eternity but also the blink of an eye. I went up, did my ritual, and WOOOOOOSH. Line #2 complete. Music volume, sweat, racing thoughts INTENSIFIED. I needed to sit down…but also run a marathon.
I started talking with my numb mouth. Someone laughed as saliva dripped out. I wanted to discuss everything. I paced around. The spirit of George Jung was alive and well. The bag mostly empty, we headed downstairs. I felt like I took a clothed shower. I looked into a mirror. My eyes were hollowed out. NO TIME FOR CARING, RUN TO THE BUS!!!!
Part two: Stay tuned….