A guide to safely raving

“I’m too sober for this.” Polina sighed.

“I’ve got an extra hit if you want it.” Vanessa presented a tiny ziplog bag with a powder-filled pill.

“I’m not taking molly that you bought from some rando ginger kid in the parking lot!” Polina scoffed and sipped her water.

“I wasn’t gonna buy it from that dude with meth teeth!” Vanessa chugged the rest of her water bottle.

The Quad was packed. Strobe lights flashed in unison with each song, frenetically changing colors when the bass dropped. A cloud of sweat hovered over the dancing crowd. Flux Pavillion manned his turntables. He pumped his arms to direct the sea of people — jump higher.

“Gonna run to the bathroom.” Polina squinted suspiciously at her best friend.

“I’ll stay here!” Vanessa smiled innocently.

“Damn it, V.”

Vanessa was crowd surfing. She laughed and waved to Polina. A guy in a Gumby costume and a girl dressed in a wolf headdress with a furry bikini pulled her onstage. Polina stuffed her hands into her pockets, nodding and swaying with the music.

“What the hell?!”

Polina pulled a tiny ziploc bag out of her pocket. Vanessa must’ve dropped it into her pocket before she went to the bathroom. She glanced around, popped it, and drained the rest of her water bottle.

***

“V — the universe is giving me a hug!”

“Isn’t it beautiful, Pol?”

“Colors are even brighter. Everything is in focus.”

“I can feel my skin breathing…”

“Is it weird?”

“It’s peaceful.”

“I never wanna eat.”

“If we had water gallon jugs, I could easily drink one right now.”

“Me too! Heat waves are rolling down my spine.”

“See? And you thought that ginger kid was sketchy.”

“I take back what I said. How did you know his shit was legit?”

“He lives with his grandma.”

“She finds high quality drugs for him…?”

“No, he said that she always tells him to do his best in everything he does, so he would never sell anything subpar.”

“God bless ginger kid’s grandma.”

“Amen.”

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“Who’s that broad Molly?”

I try not to write about where I work very often, for fear of my boss finding my blog. As mentioned in my poem yesterday, my office is in Buckhead and as I wrote in my rant about the verdict for the Trayvon Martin case, many of my coworkers are conservative white men (the majority of whom are middle-aged or older).

Most days, my coworkers’ offhandedly sexist or slightly racist comments frustrate me. However, there have been several hilarious occasions that have made up for it. (I’ll be sharing one today and others in future posts.)

Silence is the ultimate productivity killer for me, so I need to have music on while I’m working. When I’m chugging through tedious reports, I either listen to hip-hop or obnoxious dance music. About a month ago, I was listening to Trinidad James’s album when Old Jim walked into my office.

Old Jim is a brusque yet friendly man who’s close to retirement age. (The other Jim in our office is Big Jim, since he’s a huge man who acts like The Hulk during tax season). Old Jim usually asks me about pop culture so he can have some common ground with his kids.

Trinidad James was rapping in the background.

Pop a molly I’m sweatin’ (woo!)
Pop a molly I’m sweatin’ (woo!)

“Who’s that broad Molly? All the rappers talk about her. She must be pretty popular.”

“Molly isn’t a lady; it’s a drug.”

Old Jim pondered this for a moment.

“So can you smoke it like dope?”

I was too busy dying inside to reply.