A Marijuana Policy that will Blow your Mind
Some jobs are done better if the worker is stoned. There I said it. Today – in an era when “fun suckers” are draining all the life out of life — the idea sounds crazy. I know. But suspend your governmentally-promoted disbelief for just a moment.
Take, for example, the detailers at any full service car wash. If you’re like me, you’re willing to pay two or three times as much to get your car washed at the full-service instead of using the gas station drive-thru. This is true even though it takes five times longer.
The key difference is the man or woman who finishes the job. The work is backbreaking and labor intensive. It involves bending, contorting, repetitive-motion, squatting and working quickly. In other words, it’s a boring job that brutalizes the body. At the car wash in my neighborhood, the detailers are all happy and Hispanic, but they might just as easily be from any ethnic group. In the cult film of the same name, they were mostly black. In Iowa, I’m pretty sure they’d be all white, though I haven’t had my car washed there yet.
Even outside of Hollywood, car wash detailers are mostly all stoned. Not just a little buzzed, mind you, but fully blazed.
How do I know? Well, I grew up in the 70s and let’s just say that my Ganja-dar is easily as good as your Gay-dar. I can tell you if your teenage son is stoned from across the room. (He is, by the way. But odds are he’ll have a very successful life and career anyway.) Plus, I’ve asked — in that wink-nod way that all hippie-era kids know about. Zorked; trust me.
I can probably tell you if your son is gay too. It’s a talent. Really though, who cares? But I digress…
Car wash detailers do a really great job in what seems like a really crummy occupation. It’s the kind of performance that you are happy to plunk down a tip for. So looking at it purely from the perspective of observable evidence, being stoned certainly doesn’t hurt their performance. More study is needed, I think.
The stoner-service experience is entirely different at my local pizza joint (no pun intended) where everyone is regularly blasted. (Again, I used ganja-dar and wink-nod.) That place is dirty, the pizzas don’t get made in order, and the pies are often wrong or forgotten. Typically one or another worker is sporting evidence of a workplace injury, like a large bandage made of napkins. I don’t even go there anymore.
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