It’s a Friday night rush, and I’m training a new hire, walking them through station rotations. We pass the fryer station, where Marcus (names changed) is standing in his usual spot, bobbing slightly to music only he can hear, absolutely reeking of weed.

New Hire: “Uh… is he… always like that?”

Me: “Define ‘like that.'”

New Hire: “He smells like a dispensary and hasn’t blinked in ten minutes.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s Marcus. Fryer’s his domain.”

New Hire: “Isn’t that, like… against policy?”

Our manager walks by, sees Marcus rhythmically dropping fries with zen-like precision, nods in approval, then turns to us.

Manager: “Before Marcus, we lost three people in one week to the fryer station. One just disappeared into the night and never came back.”

New Hire: “So you let him work high?”

Manager: “I let him work quietly.”

Marcus pulls out a basket, perfect golden fries, zero grease burns, exactly on timer.

Me: “Marcus may be fried, but so are the fries.”

The new hire accepted this state of affairs, and we moved on with the training. A week later, when the new hire had to work the fryer on Marcus’s day off, they apologized for ever questioning anything about the “arrangement”.

I work in a craft beer store. Two customers come in and I can smell them before I see them. They’ve been smoking weed pretty darn heavily today!

That on its own wouldn’t make me remember them, but the conversation they engage in, both while high as a kite, still sticks with me. While both are high, one is in way deeper than the other.

Deeply High Customer: “Okay, so which one of these is gonna taste the least like regret?”

Less High Customer: “This one! It’s… like… crisp and light.”

Deeply High Customer: “Nah, I want something bold. But not too hoppy. And not dark. Or sweet. Or sour. Something real.”

Less High Customer: “So… not hoppy, dark, sweet, or sour?”

Deeply High Customer: “Something that stands out but also goes with, like, steak. Or salmon.” *Eyes go wide.* “Or cake!”

Less High Customer: “Oh my God! Cake!”

Deeply High Customer: “And bottles only! No cans! So I can drink it like a man!”

Less High Customer: “Okay! Let’s get this one!”

They both hug about finally coming to a decision and then walk out. No beer. Not even an attempt to make a purchase.

About twenty minutes later, I see them sitting on a bench across the street, both eating into a full-sized cake using their hands.

I am at a music festival, and some guy in the crowd is giving out temporary tattoo stickers.

Festival Goer: “Are those permanent?!”

Tattoo Guy: “Are you high?”

Festival Goer: “As a kite, but what does that have to do with anything?”

One day, I’m driving in to work at the liquor store, and I see in the parking lot my boss, a couple of cops, and someone installing a new steel door on the back of the building.

Obviously curious, I get out of my car and walk up to my boss.

Me: “Everything okay?”

Boss: “Yeah, it’s fine. Last night some guy on meth saw the store was closed, thought it was 10 AM and we would be open, and when he saw the front door was locked, took a piece of sheet metal and tried to pry open the back door.”

Me: “…Wow… okay, hang on. He tried to pry open the metal back door?”

Boss: “Yep.”

Me: “Even though the front door is made of glass?”

Boss: “Meth, dude.”

I’m a new hire, and my supervisor is showing me around.

Supervisor: “So… I think that’s everything. Also, I was wondering. Where are you from?”

Me: *Knowing what this means.* “I was born in Santa Fe, but ethnically I’m Mexican.” 

Supervisor: “Cool… cool… so do you know where I can get like… really good cocaine?”

Me: “Uh… I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

Supervisor: “You’re right, you’re right. I should ask you outside of work.”

Me: “No, I mean, it’s not appropriate to ask me that, ever! Just because my family is Mexican, you think we’re drug dealers?”

Supervisor: “Chill, it was just a joke.” 

I chalked it up to my supervisor being an idiot. I’m eighteen and just entering the workforce, so I try not to rock the boat. Later, the store manager calls me in.

Manager: “So I heard [Supervisor] asked you if you knew where to get good quality cocaine.” 

Me: “Yeah. That wasn’t cool.”

Manager: “So… do you?” 

Me: “What?! No! If you all keep asking me this, I’m going to—”

Manager: “—relax! It was a test! You passed.” 

I didn’t believe him, but I calmed down and went back to work. I was let go a week later for “not being what they were looking for.”