Memory Corner #9

Rainbows, Reds, & Yellow Jackets

The late Sixties gave us the Acid Rock of Pink Floyd, the original Progressive music of King Crimson, and the Hard Rock of Blue Cheer and Black Sabbath that was destined to become Heavy Metal. I loved the music scene, but I was a bookworm, so no high schooler took me seriously when I tried to join the conversations about those new albums by Led Zeppelin or Jethro Tull, let alone those by bands they'd never heard of like Blodwyn Pig or Mountain. They got their music from the radio Top 100 hits, which every AM radio station was looping every hour, while I hung around late night FM radio like KMET or KPPC (later, KROQ), where I heard bands like Supertramp, Nektar, Camel, and other (at the time) unclassifiable rock. And all this new music led to promotional tours. And that's when I knew I had to raise enough money to attend those concerts.

Which brings us to the other scene: The Drug Scene. 

It was just a matter of asking around the projects. What was popular with the Cholos? I already knew what was popular with the winos (alcoholics wasn't a word yet); with the winos, fortified wine like T-Bird was what winos wanted. I could probably make a few quarters stealing and selling the cheap booze, but it'd take a lot of quarters to buy a concert ticket. And too much risk doing multiple T-Bird runs. I could get shot or arrested, and shot or not, my dad would kick my ass. That left the Drug Scene as my other choice. Risky? No way. If they ain't real drugs. 

*********

There was a vitamin store at the mall, right next door to the pet supplies, across from the American Records Shop, where I bought all my import records, band like Barclay James Harvest and the Renaissance. My swimming coach always recommended supplements, that is, over-the-counter drugs to replace the nutrients lost during workouts and that prepared you mentally and physically before a swim meet. Even though the coach never did it, I could see the "wink-wink" in his eye and the "nudge-nudge" in his nod. Yeah, supplementals. Uppers, downers. You know, vitamins. NTA-approved. Well, close enough, right?

I walked up and down the well-lit aisles, the smell of sandalwood incense wafting in from the Head Shop down a few stores. "May I help you?" asked the pretty college-aged girl who looked like she worked out a lot in her spare time. I wondered what supplements she was taking. "I'm looking for some helpers my coach recommended for my swim meets and to get a good night's sleep," I said like the liar that I was. "Over here," she said, and I followed.

Down one aisle for some yellow pills, another aisle for the reds, and the rainbows, she had those behind the counter. "The yellows are your workouts, but be careful, not too many," she advised, "they can keep you awake longer than you'd like." She glanced at me, and when I didn't ask any questions, she continued, "The reds are for sleep, and you should be careful with those as some people complain that they have trouble getting up in the morning. Most people love the lucid dreaming though, a nice side effect of the reds." Another glance, but this time I nodded that I understood. "And last, the rainbows. When you have to concentrate, like for tests or study, take two, and only two, in the afternoon. Keep the reds and rainbows at least four hours apart. You want to sleep, not crash." That time I didn't understand, but I nodded anyway. 

She bagged the product in one of those shiny white store brand plastic shopping bags and handed it to me along with my change from a twenty. "This is about a month's supply. Good luck with your swim meet." And I was out the door. One more stop. 

********

The Maravilla Pet Shop, Pets and Supplies, smelled like rat urine. Their biggest selling item was rats, then mice, fish, and the food you feed them. It all stunk up the store. They never seem to sell any of the puppies in the window. I must have seen three puppies grow up and get replaced by a new cute puppy. I wondered at the possibility of inbreeding going on just to keep a puppy in the window, since it was the puppies that brought in new customers, who when they saw the price of the dogs, bought a mouse or a rat instead. 

The store owner was a stoner, like Chong from Cheesh and Chong. "Hey, Man, where's the capnip," I said rather than asked. "You know that shit don't get you high, right?" He waited for an answer. "It's for my cat." "Yeah, right," he smirked. He reached under the counter and pulled out baggies of catnip. Damn if it didn't look just like the big MJ. "How many bags, man?" he asked. "I'll take what you got." "Five it is, my Man." He rolled the sandwich bags into burritos and folded each burrito into the fold of each bag. He added the bags into my vitamin bag because he didn't want to waste a brown paper bag. I paid the man, said, "Till next time," and headed for home.

*********

At home I sorted the pills and sorted them into snack bags, pill bags, and aluminum paper. I used the card slots of my baseball card sheets in my folder to organize the assortment of drugs and "pot". I came up with a price for each item, calculated what I had to sell to paid for a concert ticket, transportation, and souvenir T-shirt. The whole folder, if I sold everything, would net me four concert tickets. Not all at once. I knew how to save money for upcoming shows. This whole drug thing was strictly for the music scene, I had to remind myself. 

Time to get to work. First and only stop. Martian's house.

You know, I didn't even know his real name. He looked like one of those Saucer Men from Invasion of the Saucer Men, and all the kids since middle-school have been calling him Martian. He was a nice guy, and lived in a big house a few blocks from the projects, more in the better neighborhoods with trim lawns and colorful gardens. I rang the doorbell, and a woman answered. We didn't say a word to each other, as if we were communicating telepathically. She nodded, called a name I didn't recognize, and Martian appeared. "Hey, Man," he said. "My mom thinks you're weird. Wanna see my room?"

In his room, I opened the folder. His eyes glazed over. "How much?" he wanted to know. "Which ones?" I asked. "Everything." And that's all it took. He opened a fake encyclopedia with hollowed pages, took out my asking price, and paid me. I slid out the product from each sleeve and watched him place the goods into another hollowed out encyclopedia. I thought, He must have the whole set. Deal done. I went home and hid the money. 

********

The concert was fantastic. Black Sabbath opened for Grand Funk Railroad at the Inglewood Forum, Home of the Lakers. At the show, I bought some hashish, a few buds. some yellows, a few real reds, and five hard-to-find blues (they'll calm you down in case you have a bad trip). I saw Martian at the show with some of his rich friends. They were smoking the 'nip, partying on caffeine pills, antihistamines, and diuretics. The music was great, but watching Martian and his friends was even greater. I was King of the Assholes. 

But what did I win?

The following day Martian came to my door, and I stepped outside to talk to him. He wanted more, you know, baseball cards for his encyclopedia. I don't know why but I asked him, "What's your real name?" He laughed. I mean, like uncontrollable laughter till I thought he'd choke. "You're funny." I told him to wait by the big tree in my yard, and I went and got the MJ bud, a few yellows and some reds. I kept the hashish and blues. 

Martian eyed the product suspiciously. I told him that this was better than the last stuff, same price, for you only. Fair? Yeah, fair, he said. 

And my conscience was clear. I was only King of the Assholes for one night. 

********

I was the envy of the high school rockers when I wore my Black Sabbath T-shirt. I told them all about the concert, the light show, the cloud of MJ smoke in the arena and how everyone inside the place had a contact high. We all laughed about it. For the first time, I was noticed. I wasn't the bookworm. I was the concert goer. And I had to let them know that I had my sights set on the upcoming David Bowie concert. Who? they asked, interested. Are they like Sabbath? Different. Lots of good different Rock out there. Wish I could go, said a pretty girl. I looked her in the eye and said, I'll tell you all about it. In the meantime, look up Bowie at American Records. Man, oh, man, things were happening. It didn't quite make sense.

So off to home I went to think about it, full of myself for impressing a bunch of people I'd never spoken to before. Who were they? Who was I? Man, what was I becoming?

*********

I walked through the park toward my house across the street. Martian was waiting for me by the baseball field bleachers, which were empty. He probably wanted more goodies. He took a bud out of his shirt pocket, tossed it to the concrete floor, and smashed it underfoot into powder and kicked it away. "This isn't the good shit, like you promised," he said like really pissed off. "My friends thought I was trying to rip them off. I want the old stuff. By tomorrow. Bring it to my house. If you don't, I'll tell your friends at school you're a phony. Tony phony baloney." And off he stormed. 

What the hell just happened? Was this one of those famous ironies of life? Was I the only one who was staring into the shocked face of the audience in a moment of fifth wall chicanery? Was the audience booing Othello and cheering Iago? 

So be it. 

I went to the mall. did some shopping for vitamins and pet supplies. I even stopped to pat the puppies on the head. Soon these puppies would be supplying the display windows with their inbred offspring. What goes around. I took Martian "the good stuff", and he thanked me and begged for forgiveness because he lost his temper. He even paid me extra for the goods and made me promise to bring him and his friends more stuff. I promised with all my heart.

At home, I hid the money, calculated how many more concerts I could afford, and decided to open a bank account. I bet if I planned it right, I could take that girl to the Bowie concert. So, why did I hate myself? Oh, yeah, because I was King of the Assholes. Why did everyone love me then? Same reason. It's good to be King.