First World Tragedy

Catastrophe ensues as an 18-year-old stoner settles himself in his bed after his evening toke.

After what felt like far too long, I finally made it up to my room from my garage. I always tried to make the journey as spryly as possible, hoping to get to my room before my state of mind made the abrupt change from feeling slightly euphoric to being more baked than Death Valley. I didn’t make it this time; I was friggin’ stoned. I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity of getting a bowl of ice cream and two tall cans of iced tea while I was down there. I mean, let’s be real, I needed something to enjoy after my Macdonald’s.

It’s not that I’m incapable of talking to my mom when I’m high; it’s just something I prefer to avoid if possible. She knows I smoke a piss load of weed, but that doesn’t mean she embraces the fact. She usually makes me feel guilty when I’m sober, which translates to panic when I’m baked, which is why I usually wait until she’s asleep before I head to the garage. Her bedroom is inconveniently pushed right up beside mine. This means that any time I spend scavenging the kitchen for munchy add-ons will potentially loosen her sleep. And, when her sleep is in a looser state, I have to be extra cautious and speedy in getting to my room so as to not drag her completely out of unconsciousness. Now you begin to see my difficulties. It’s all a very sensitive balance.

It’s usually fine, though; so don’t worry too much about me. I’m a veritable f*****g wraith when it comes to maneuvering my staircase with food in my hands. I kept my thumb on the spoon sticking over the side of the ice cream bowl, lest it fall out and cause a clamor. I nestled one can of iced tea in the nook between my elbow and my torso so that I could hold the other one with only a thumb and index finger of my other hand. This left me three full fingers free to be used for opening the doorknob to my bedroom. And if I’m not already impressing the piss out of you, hear this: I did it with no lights on. I couldn’t risk having the light in the hallway creeping under her door, begging her to get out of bed to turn it off.

The fast food bag was already in my room since before I went to blaze, of course. Only a madman would try to be stealthy with one of those crinkly friggin’ things in their hands. So there I was, safe in my room with all my night’s food and drink mustered, more fried than the slices of potatoes in the Macdonald’s bag. I bought a new s****y action movie to watch earlier that day. It doesn’t matter what it was, because I probably wouldn’t remember much of the storyline anyway. All in all, I was thinking that it shaping up to be a pretty decent night. God was I ever intensely and tragically wrong.

I cued up the DVD player, turned off my bedroom light, and got myself situated in my bed in a manner that made movement seem ludicrous. I was comfortably suffocating in blankets and pillows and bad nutrition. I turned on my T.V. - with a remote, obviously - and the screen painted the walls in dim, electric hues. I started the movie, and --

A noise in my mom’s room.

My heart began thudding in the unsettling way that it only can when one is stoned as a blasphemer in the religious era. This was bad timing. I was always the most stoned when the movie just began. I heard her shuffling steps, trying to find a light switch. I muted the movie. I knew I was being ridiculous, but it was stoned logic; it couldn’t be helped. I listened for her bedroom door to open, although it was hard to listen over the sound of my drum in my chest. I realized I had been holding my breath for what felt like… well, now that I thought about it, I didn’t know if I was breathing or not. Holy s**t, did I forget how to breathe? I sat up in my bed, focusing my scattered mind on inhaling and exhaling. Okay, I got breathing down again. I can relax again "

A noise in my mom’s room.

I forgot that my mom was still awake during the brief lapse of my cerebellum. I started to listen again. My panic reseeded as I realized she was only going to the washroom. The invisible fist that was squeezing my gets let go and I returned to the movie. I was comfortable again. I reached over the side of my bed to plug my phone into its charger.

My phone charger.

Where was my phone charger?!

A vague memory dawned of me plugging my phone charger into my computer to download music onto it. The computer was downstairs. Fuuuck. I whispered to myself in terrible depression. I was usually so good at remembering things like that! Now I would have to wait until I was absolutely certain my mom was asleep again before I could charge my dead phone. What if I needed to check facebook? What if their was an emergency? This was absurd. Unacceptable. This was worse than the Great Fast Food Famine of last week, when both of the fast food restaurants in my neighborhood were closed for renovation, and that was friggin’ cruel. At least in that case there was other food to eat in the house. I only had one phone charger!

I paused the movie for the second time that night and pondered my plan. I groaned, and with the will of a thousand gods I lifted myself from my bed. I was feeling exceptionally brave, so I decided to go into this catastrophe without even waiting the customary fifteen minutes for my mom to fall asleep again. People who say the third world has it hard needs to take a bitter dose of my life. Most people don’t even have phones in the third world, so they would never be caught in this first world tragedy.

Reviews

[Dante Carlisle]

Definitely enjoyed this. You can always tell the ones that have lived through it. Too funny. Good work

[Chris Woestenburg]

Thanks, Dante!

[The Twin Arenas]

ahaha, I remember this kind of stuff. write what you know, man. always appreciated.
I really liked this, Chris.

[Chris Woestenburg]

Thanks, man.

[The Twin Arenas]

haha. i just read it again. dug it then, still diggin' it.