junior and uncle mike loses a joint

Junior and Uncle Mike Lose A Joint

I (Junior to my Uncle Mike) went to visit him in Baltimore for about a week a little less than a year ago.  My goal was to spend the week interviewing him so that I can write his biography.  He’s an interesting individual.  One of those types of people that have lived several lifetimes.  Not much money, but he comes from extremely wealthy and powerful people.  The text book black sheep of the family.  These days he’s older though.  Sixty-two.  Still a pot smoking, sleeze-loving, jew from Baltimore.  A character.  One I have been extremely fortunate to have grown up with him in my life and knowing so much of his background I wanted to write his story.

During one of those days I was visiting with my Uncle Mike, we decided to go to Washington D.C.  I had never been to D.C. and was really excited to go.  My Uncle made sure that he made us sandwiches for the trip along with two joints, one was slightly thinner and meant for the ride up, one was fatter and for the ride back.  He also brought his vape pen just in case we need a little something extra.

On the drive down we smoked the slightly thinner meant for the ride up joint as I quizzed him on a basketball referee test he had coming up, “Junior, I gotta know these things.  I gotta have all the hand signs down, I gotta have all the rule…all the rules I gotta know.  So lets go over them again,” he hits the joint.

We parked in a hotel parking garage not far from all the sights.  I was really excited.  This was treat for me.  I had never been to Washington D.C. and I couldn’t help but be in awe of everything as we were driving in.  Uncle Mike doesn’t wear his shoes when he drives, so when he parks he gets out of his car, opens his trunk and sits there and puts his sneakers on.  He’s dressed like he’s going on safari.  He’s got tan cargo pants that zip free into shorts when needed and a light blue Columbia shirt with the wind flaps and all, “Junior!  Do you want Turkey salad or Tuna salad?”

“Tuna salad.”

Dynamite, dynamite,” he grabs the sandwiches out of a cooler closes his trunk, pats his pockets,”Keys, cellphone, bag, alright.  I think I’m ready Junior.”

We get about five blocks from the car when I realize that I have the other fatter meant for the ride back joint in a ziplock bag in my pocket, “Shit, I got the joint on me still Uncle Mike.”

“That’s okay, that’s okay Junior.  I got a plan,” Uncle Mike starts looking around for something.

“You wanna just go back?”

“We can’t go back, ah it’s like a half mile away, we’ll just hide it somewhere.  Then we go do the museums and walk around and it’ll be a nice treat when we get back.  And if it isn’t there, at least we know someone is gonna be having a reeeeeaaaal good time.  HAHA!”

So we found a small monument near some government building and there were benches and bushes behind the benches.  We sat and ate our Tuna salad and Turkey salad sandwiches.  Then Uncle Mike got up and put the joint in the ziplock bag in the bushes behind the bench we were sitting at.

After spending all day and into the early evening roaming around Washington D.C., museums, monuments, the whole thing we headed back to the spot we picked out to hide the joint.  The whole place was empty, there must’ve been a dozen benches and all but one was empty.  And of course this kid was sitting on his computer right where my Uncle hid the joint.  But since Uncle Mike rarely cares what people think of him or bother to see if he is making them uncomfortable, he walked right over next to the kid reached behind him at the base of the bushes, the kid never so much as averted his eyes from his computer screen, and before you know it we were off again and Uncle Mike had the joint in tow.

We were really excited by finding the fatter meant for on the way home joint.  We got to the car, Uncle Mike and his OCD got us turned around several times before we found our way out of the city.  It’s about ten in the evening and we reach the open highway, “Alright Junior, lets get stoned huh?”

He reaches in his pocket, “Sonofabitch!  I lost the joint.”

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