Floor Drugs – Fuck Yeah or Just Fucked?
By Jane Parton
Last night I had a few separate conversations involving the phenomenon known as “floor drugs” – you know, the lucky moment where you spot a lost bag of some unfortunate soul’s drugs lying unclaimed on the floor. One of my friends recently dared to try his found drugs and this morning told me he was feeling pretty shitty as a result. I, on the other hand, have had a few floor drug experiences in my day, all of which were actually pretty decent.
So this is the conundrum – you’re in a bar and you’ve found some drugs. How do you decide if the obvious sketchiness outweighs the potential fun? And, if moments like these make you all warm inside, are you willing to risk experiencing the major shame attack sure to follow a night of doing what will most likely be shitty drugs in an even shittier setting? From my experience, a lot of it has to do with where you are. From this you can make educated guesses as to the source of the lost drugs, which give insight into the quality and potential shady factors. To help you answer these all-important questions here is my personal cost vs. benefit commentary.
COST VS. BENEFIT ANALYSIS
18 and Over Clubs – It depends on the night, but I’d say for the most part that floor drugs found here either belong to over-privileged suburban 18-year-olds or to weird, yuppie sex predators planning to offer them to said suburban 18-year-olds. Either way, cut as a motherfucker, but probably not with anything too shady.
Dudebro/Dirty Hipster Bars – You get the satisfaction of knowing that these drugs belonged to one of those lame dudebros who you hate for “ruining the Mission” on weekends. This dudebro is (or will be in 20 minutes when he goes to do a bump and can’t find his drugs) hella bummed, and you helped make that happen! But let’s be honest, this shit will be total garbage and if you’re over 21 you will hate yourself for doing anything you picked up off the floor at a one of these places.
Trendy Hipster Bars – Keep the following in mind – the nights one is likely to find floor drugs at trendy hipster bars are weekends, the same nights bridge & tunnel douche-bags are drawn to these spots like R. Kelly to pre-teens. As you’re considering floor drugs, evaluate your fellow patrons. See that pudgy Middle Eastern computer programmer guy in the sand-washed True Religion jeans and bejeweled Bret Michaels-esque cowboy hat? Yeah, that guy over there with his Bluetooth still in his ear. Those drugs could be HIS DRUGS. Do you really want to get high off of what that guy gets high off of? I think I’ve made my point.
Hole-in-the-Wall Bars – Most of these are so mellow and cozy I find it hard to believe that people would even do drugs in them … until I started doing drugs in them. If I actually paid for my own stuff, I’d save it and do it somewhere the setting would be more enjoyable, ie. do you really want to be high on stimulants listening to songs off of Neil Young’s “Prairie Wind” album? But if it’s free, why not? I will say though, that overall, I think finding floor drugs in these spots is pretty unlikely.
Music Venues – I would imagine that the floor drugs you find in clubs like these will typically be pretty speedy. People want $40 grams but are unwilling to sacrifice on potency, so shitty amphetamines are substituted to close the gap. If you just want to get fucked up and are on board with it regardless, I’m not judging you for it. Just take it slow …and be prepared to spend the next day or two feeling dehydrated and inconsolably depressed.
College Bars – If you find floor drugs here I’d say you kind of came up. They probably belong to someone you “kind of” know. 15 minutes after you’ve found a baggie, you’ll bump into this person in the smoking room. You’ll ask how their night’s going, they’ll say, “Good, except I just lost a big bag of drugs!” (sad face) at which point you’ll get to hug them and be like, “Bummer! Well, hey, want to come do a bump with me?” and now you’re the hero and everyone’s happy.
Bike Messenger Bars – The fact that there even are floor drugs to be found at places where people exercise for a living is kind of ridiculous, but I can vouch because last summer I definitely found some. I didn’t do them because it was like 6pm, still light outside, and even I have to draw the line somewhere. As far as sketchiness goes, they’re probably fine. Anyone who brings stimulants to a bar that only serves fancy beer and sausages is kind of winning at life.
Cocaine + Music = Genius. Duh.
Braincookies by Xifer Fortier
Let’s talk a little about the longest lasting marriage in show business, shall we? I’m speaking, of course, about music and cocaine and the way they interact – for better or worse.
Cocaine-use, in my experience, turns up as a personality trait. This observation is glib and a little judgmental, but true. From a musical standpoint, I’m not convinced that this is all bad. Am I making a pro-coke statement in print? Is that a smart career move? Will my mom ever speak to me again? Answers: “No,” “No,” and “Probably” (she’d have plenty to say).
Maybe you do coke all the damn time so as to enhance every experience – which, btw, you actively pursue with your every waking moment: the magic, the transcendence, the wonderment, the pulse of the night.
Or MAYBE you tried it once (against your better judgment) after some show. Nobody wanted the night to end and your friend (who has a sweet gig in the industry) had a hookup. Quick text. Quick text back. Cab ride. Cash. Wait. Go to someone’s house after purchase of 12-pack and vodka from corner grocery that sells booze until 1:59 am (someone has lemonade).
It looked like a ritual you might wanna experience in this lifetime. You didn’t get high (maybe a little), but the process sure was dark and dirty and fun. Your personality was altered that day. The hang changed your life. Friends (new, old and not really) spilled poignant details of their lives with a rhythm approximating a Hanna-Barbera retrospective.
The thing that coke “does” for us (in musicland, in particular) is this: It allows us to think a moment we experienced made sense on simultaneous social and sonic levels. This moment respected everything we thought about growing up, through our adolescence, and touched vaguely on our so-called adulthood…indeed until this very evening. In a world characterized by degrees of disappointment, coke reminds us slyly and with bedroom eyes that another half hour might make all the difference. The only reason “we” do it is because the promise delivers — occasionally. For every seven disappointing nights that result in the Mount Rushmore of hangovers and 3 to 5 regrettable text messages, there’s a moment the drugs/music combo brought us momentary soul-mates.
I don’t do a tremendous amount of drugs these days. In the great tradition of funnyman, Bill Hicks, I don’t have a lot of bad things to say about them. BUT, I’m one of those guys who ‘used to smoke a buncha weed’ and ‘smokes really rarely now.’ It’s great fun – when the spirit moves, the music is good, conversation is a celebration and my inner rock-star wags its tail. I get really high. I’m not maintaining.
And yes, I’ve done some coke in my lifetime. In a society culturally reticent to express it’s immediate affections, coked out clowns who enjoy the same music bond in a way that allows them to express temporary love to the point of utter stupidity. And if THAT isn’t dangerous for the music-economy, I don’t know what is …
Again I’m paraphrasing Bill. He was discussing mushrooms, and how the spiritual clarity he derived from various fungus-oriented occasions made him realize we’re all one; Nature. Creatures, humans, that chick on the Progressive Insurance ads — all of us. He might have also discussed acid’s capacity to bring to light the fractal nature of the social universe.
If you’re still reading, you’re laughing. If you’re mocking me, fuck off. If you’re reading this, its because you’re thinking, “Hmmmm.. drug rant? This could be good ..” which means YOU have been that person, have spoken earnestly about the great patterns of our existence, have felt the heartbeat of the earth or have (at the very least) declared emphatically, in front of all present, that you love them and shall be their friend forever. No foul.
Read More Braincookies:
The Gay 90′s – Why Rock Radio Sucks
Caribou and the Art? Behind Math Rock
Snapshots From a Call Girl – Sanjay
Sanjay
$1000
I met him at his suite at the W hotel which was nice but I was expecting much more than just a normal looking hotel room with a corner banquette. He asked me to look “natural and sweet” which for him meant a cheap cotton dress from Nanette Lepore and cowboy boots from Justin. I put my hair into a ponytail because I know he likes to pull it down.
He had perfect lines of coke cut up on the glass coffee table and offered me one. Normally I never do drugs with a client but I know him well and he prefers it. He always seems to have a supply, though I’ve never seem him partake. As I bent over the table, he sat deep into the leather banquette seats and unzipped his pants. Before the cocaine had even begun to take effect he grabbed the back of my head and forced his hard dick into my mouth.
He likes when I struggle and he has to force. I put both my arms onto his thighs and try to pull away. He twists his grip onto my hair and uses it to push me back onto him. I gag and choke, spit coming out of my mouth with every thrust allowing his dick to slide back and forth easily. “My dick can feel the coke on the back of your throat,” he says. His free hand is down the front of my shirt squeezing my breast tightly. He rams deeper into me, causing me to gag quite a bit. Each time he hits my throat he pinches my nipple so hard and painfully I want to cry out. “God, I love to fuck your mouth you dirty fucking slut,” he says over and over again until he pauses and I can feel warm liquid spew into me, filling my entire mouth. He pulls my head off of him but in a very gentle way this time. “God, you’re beautiful,” he says. “There’s a toothbrush in the bathroom.”
