Dream job

A dream job, yes. Maybe you wouldn't think so when you are almost run off the highway by a screamingly large semi truck at your side, in a blinding rain storm, with the only option for survival is a quick lane change to the left, but really, it is. And maybe you might think that I would say "next", when I find myself needing not only another can of Starbuck Mexican Mocha to keep me awake to the next stop but also a quick break at a rest stop, non-compliantly, just to give my eyes a rest. There is much to be said for a nice desk job but I have had one of those. There is also something to be said for a nice big fat paycheck, but I had one of those, too, and it damn near killed me.

No, I am happy as a clam in a field full of other happy clams. Somehow I have stumbled into a form of employed bliss, one that I didn't know existed. Sure, the hours are long, some might even think horrible. I start my driving day at a quarter of seven and sometimes find myself getting home, after a full day behind the wheel, well after 8 in the evening. The car that I drive, while relatively new, is small and has an engine that sometimes feels mighty anemic going up those Rocky Mountain grades. I find myself at the mercy of the weather, I never get lunches and the pay, while substantially better than that of my bud tender brethren, is not what I would call killer.

 BUT! And here's the big but....it's a blast. I find that I really truly love this state that I live in. I get to travel from east to west, from north to south, mostly in the day, and so far, mostly in absolutely stunning sunshine. The scenery changes daily, clouds here, wind there, mountains in the distance covered with snow, trees at my elbow bedecked with sunshiny colors. For years I longed to be on the east coast when the leave changed, this year I have had weeks of full bounty, from Trinidad to Parachute, along Glenwood Canyon to the tops of the Rockies.

And while I rarely stop outside of the dispensaries that my manifests dictate, I make sure that when I hit town and my deliveries are done I visit a pot shop or two, just to see what the biggest strains are of the region. I rarely have money for bud, and I know that if I wait I can get a sizable discount back at the shop, but every once in awhile I find an extra twenty in my pocket, one that, applied to a local driver discount, will let me leave with a treat or two. Colombian Gold, Gorilla Glue, Durango OG, Cannalope Haze, just to name few, have ridden home in my satchel, just ready for another weekend's play.

It is a very serious industry, something that most folks on the outside of it might find hard to see. You would think that with all the grass in the world to play with you would find all staff stoned all the time, but to tell you I have never seen such a hardworking, honest and integrity filled bunch of workers in my life. And while I might catch a silent buzz from the heated oils or the decarbing grass I am a clean player, too. There is too much at stake here, here in Colorado, with this grand experiment of ours. We have to play it straight, show ourselves to be a legitimate business, to show the world and the Feds that the tired old trope of red eyed stones is a myth. We're business folk, here to make a buck but also one to follow the rules, too.

I absolutely love this job. I eat my lunch on the road but what passes by my windows in sublime. The people that I work with, from folks in my shop to the workers and owners of the dispensaries that I serve, are wonderful, interesting and a whole hell of lot of fun.

And while a snowstorm may shut off my mountain access here and there I know that while I get to I will get up at the crack of dawn, pack my lunch, eat an egg or three and happily get on the road for another day of delivery and adventure.

That's what a dream job is all about.

Salud!