Without a Cosmo of our own, we posed the question to a dozen of our closest, messiest friends in our first ever Sword Self-Help piece.
Dear Sword: My Dealer is Flipping Me Out! What do I do?
PROBLEM 1: He’s Keeping You Hostage
Relationships with dealers are more complicated than relationships with
the coffee girl, but not by much. Some small talk required to dress up
the financial transaction, but when he abducts you for an hour and starts showing you his Star Wars collection, it’s time to start looking for
the door. “I had this one guy I used to buy pot from,” says Bert, a San
Francisco artist. “Once inside you were subjected to endless hours of
show and tell. Clothes in the closet, new art pieces, photos from a
visit to mom’s pumpkin patch or the latest addition to the knick-knack
corner… It was an ordeal, and I was trapped for hours at time.”
SWORD SOLUTION A: Plan your trips around tight deadlines. “I became
wise to the ways,” boasts Bert “and would time my visit right before
dinner or be explicit that I had plans and couldn’t stay long.” Well
SWORD SOLUTION B: Make Sure They Don’t Speak English! “A bus boy at a
restaurant I worked at sold what we affectionately referred to as
Kitchen Crack,” said Elmo, “It was just low quality cocaine. His
english was very bad so conversations were generally not attempted. And
he was very well stocked.” Problem solved!
PROBLEM 2: He’s Gone Psycho
From Ernie, a writer in Brookyn. “My dealer in for mushrooms and pills
and cocaine was this crazy 50-something Burning Man ex-hippy. He was
terminally paranoid that the government was watching him, so he had
sound-proof padding on all of the walls, his furniture was made out of
piles of newspapers and stuffed animals, and he would make us whisper
whenever we talked because there were supposedly microphones in the
SWORD SOLUTION A: Imply that the cops may have followed you. “At a
certain point,” said Ernie, “his apartment was off-limits because he
was so scared the feds were after him. We had to meet him in bars,
which was fine by us because we could leave.”
SWORD SOLUTION B: Act crazier than he does “If you act all crazy and
talk about invisible spiders and Smurfs,” said Sully, a twentysomething
dilettante, “they start wanting to leave you alone.”
PROBLEM 3: He’s In Bed With You
Oh, the horror: The troll is using free pot/coke/ecstasy to get in your pants.
From a titty grab while you drive around the block, to a free E pill if you agree to go home with the guy who sells them, to being forced to
sit through porn while smoking meth to our friend Prairie Dawn’s
confession that her speed dealer “gradually went from a kiss goodbye
or a massage… into this routine of: we’d do a line & he’d eat
me out while I smoked a joint,” it only can only end badly. How badly?
“I knew it was time to end it,” confessed Gordon, a San Francisco
journalist. “After two months of him greeting me every morning in a
Miss Piggy bathrobe and a glass bong made from an Absolut bottle,
calling out, ‘Breakfast time! Who’s ready for a Blueberry Morning!'” A
quick study, that Gordon.
SWORD SOLUTION A: Get scabies. “He kept pacing around the room,” said
Dawn, “and wondering if the chance of gettin scabies was worth him eating
me out once more.”
SWORD SOLUTION B: Pay for your own drugs, cheap bitches. And under no circumstances let them move in.
Sadly, despite voluminous research, we were unable to find a solution
for how to get drugs without a dealer. “So I did not fire my dealer,”
ended an email from our informant Biff, ” … but I came close!”
Exactly. Good luck with that.
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