Faster Than a Speeding City Bus: Chronic Drama

Getting between a drug dealer and his stash is never a good thing. What's he going to do? He exited more than a mile back. We underestimated Shaggy's kick a*s set of lungs, and nearly paid a big price

Theres been a few times I thought my ticket was about to be punched. You know, headed for the wrong side of the grass. This was one. Three of my 9th grade buddies and I rode the bus to the mall.  Exciting s**t for small town burbanites. On the way home, there was a major stoner on the back row giving us the stink-eye. We’ll call him Shaggy. In fact, this bus was pretty much the stoner express on the back half. It was probably the punked out, bleached hairdo’s of a couple of the bro’s that pissed him off.  

Shaggy was cradling one of those 90s era double sided cassette cases like it was full of gold bars, or the nuclear launch codes or something. We were about to find out why. He pulled the cord and got off. Giving us one more long stink-eye as he passed.  Looking back at his seat, I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Holy Crap, Shaggy left his briefcase!!” We swarmed like starving hyenas and started rifling through it. 14-15 y.o. boys don’t get real cerebral about such things. Anything for that matter. It was on. It was a young headbangers essential listening. A major score. One gem after another. As the pillaging and pilfering died down, people headed back to their seats. Realizing it was double sided, I flipped the case over and opened it. Angelic choirs erupted within my head. Well, I think it was only me that heard it. The frenzy was about to  kick off once again, “Holy sheep scrotum, guys check this out!!” The reason he was hugging it so tight became obvious. 

The other stoner dudes in the back of the bus definitely wanted in on this one. It was stacked wide and deep w/ individual ½ oz bags o’ weed. 16 of them. And not the seedy, stemmy s**t we were used to. Simultaneously with the choirs, the glorious piney scent washed over me, and it only said one thing. “High Grade Chron.”  1/2 lb. total, packed and stacked for maximum efficiency.

We were hooting and hollering, giggling and squealing like 8 year olds on Christmas morning as the bus stopped about 1.5 miles from where Shaggy had exited stage right. Suddenly, our glee was snuffed out and replaced with straight up “ohhhh S**T.”  To our disbelief, a very sweaty and unhappy Shaggy was about to become a whole lot more unhappy.

How he caught that bus, I’ll never know. Shaggy was a stoner w/ a kick a*s set of lungs, obviously. This was the only stop since he got off. He didn’t have to conduct much of an investigation.  The kids w/ 8 cassette tapes each, stacked proudly together caught his eye first. And there was fire those in eyes. Apologizing profusely, we handed over all the cassettes and he seemed a little better. It didn’t last. 

Shaggy saw the other side empty. The accusations and denials got so heated, the Driver stopped again and kicked us all off, to sort it out. “ I don’t care what’s going on, I don’t wanna know, just take it the hell off my bus!”  There was 4 of us, but that wasn’t helping the vibe much. Shaggy pulled out a pocket knife, and it wasn’t a small knife.
Give me my s**t now! I might not stick all of you, but two will be no problem. I ain’t f****n’ around. You just don’t f**k w/ a man’s dope. Or his business.”  “We didn’t take your stuff, serious, it was those stoners man.” Right then, our luck changed in a big way. The biggest baddest stoner made a serious tactical mistake. A mistake that was about to save our asses. 

Just as the bus revved up and started pulling way, I looked up to see him hanging all the way out the window from the waist up. Shaking his fist w/ one hand, giving us the “sssshhhhh” sign w/ the other. His slow reflexes sealed the deal on our escape. 

Seeing our out, I pointed “Look, it was him, look. That dude!” Shaggy whips around, and sees stoner full gesture. Self Incriminating gesture. I started to say “see, it’s not….” But he already pounced.

He didn’t waste any time, and resumed his sprint to recover his precious goods once and for all. One of my bro’s Dad worked at the Hardware Store nearby on Saturdays. 2 or 3 of us in unison, “Let’s get the f**k outta here.”  We sprinted the whole ½ mile distance, seeking refuge from the sh*t storm we’d got ourselves into. He hid us in the break room until his shift was over, then drove us home. “Why did you come here boys?” Being gifted beyond our years in the art of BS and the quick improv response, my buddy spread it on thick. “I just wanted to see you Dad, just wanted to say Hi. Make sure you’re having a good day.” The old man got the warm and fuzzies w/ that response.  

We swore to each other real story would stay within the bro circle of trust. That lasted for about 2 hrs. The sudden appearance of 1/3 lb. of the sweetest hippy lettuce meant we couldn’t hide it for long. As we smoked out anyone who partook, early and often, and re-lived the drama again and again like conquering heroes. I like to think that Shaggy caught that bus again, but I’ll never know. We had no complaints. Of course, within a short period of time we realized, you NEVER steal a drug dealers stash. At the time, we were too young and stupid to care, and it fueled our bowling league going for at least a month. And anyone else who wanted in.