The Austin Chronic: I Bought Weed From an Instagram Ad
Just doing some field testing here
By Kevin Curtin, Fri., Sept. 6, 2024
How many people do you think sell weed in Austin?
It’s a fun thing to spend 90 seconds or so pondering. Feels like about 1 in 20 people I know slang at least a little bit, so if you divide Austin’s current census-designated population of 961,855 by 20, that’s 48,092.75 ... No, no – that can’t be right. The number’s way too high, and I’ve bought pot from three-quarters of a person.
I like this question, though, because it feels like one of the rare queries you can’t have answered by Chat GPT-4. I bet you could ask AI how many taco trucks are in Austin and get a reasonable figure, but cannabis retail is uncountable because the market exists off the grid.
Mostly.
When I was rubbing my thumb up against my phone screen the other day, I saw a stylish Instagram ad promising something like: Flower delivered to your door in 1.5 hours! “Yeah, okay,” I thought, assuming it was either hemp strains or just some scammy operation.
Then my memory butted in: The business’ name – it was the same place my friend mentioned when he recently gifted me some gummy bears. He warned me that they were 100 milligrams apiece so I only ate one from the waist down ... wait, do bears have waists? Anyway, I bit off the bottom half of a gummy bear and laid on the couch reading a book with a shit-eating grin. The next morning I woke up full-on baked and had to play my 9am game of full-court basketball feeling like a gummy bear myself.
I said “what the hell” and decided to buy weed from a business with a Meta Ad Account and a Google profile.
Disclaimer 1: You’ve probably noticed while reading the last two paragraphs that I’m not mentioning this business’ name. That’s a conscientious decision. I walk a sometimes-awkward line with this column because I write it for the curious-minded marijuana lovers of Austin, who I’m committed to serving useful info and humor. At the same time, I don’t want to put somebody’s technically illegal business on front street. In situations like this, I’ve been asked if I’m worried the police could be reading my column and my joke is: “Cops don’t read. Have you ever looked at an arrest affidavit?” In this case, I’m comfortable relating the experience because this delivery service is unquestionably forward-facing, but I’ve decided to discuss the experience using broad language.
So I went to the website and perused the menu, then texted the number at the top of the page: “Hi I’d like to order some flower for delivery.” They texted right back, asking my address and what I’d like. I made it clear I did not want hemp or THCA weed and asked what they had in stock for designer flower that comes in a sealed package. After verifying my age by sending them a photo holding my ID, I ordered an eighth of some of their top-shelf designer bud from California.
Actually, I technically ordered a $60 sticker.
And I wondered what kind of sticker I might get. Presumably, it’d be some promo sticker of their brand, but I delighted myself imagining it being a random run-of-the-mill bumper sticker, like a peace frog or a Blue Lives Matter or that one with the stick figures of a mom and dad and four kids and a dog and two cats.
It was damn near 11pm so the dispatcher suggested scheduling a delivery for the next morning, which I did.
Disclaimer 2: I just realized that this story would be more thorough had I purchased cannabis from several delivery operators in Austin and then compared the results. Unfortunately, that is extremely out-of-budget at the moment, so what you’re getting is one silly stoner’s experience with one service. Sorry about that.
The next day, the driver was right on time. I went out to his car, he handed me a brown paper sack stapled with a professional point-of-sale receipt, and I handed him cash. It was a chill and friendly exchange.
The strain I selected was Randy Watzon, which contains the genetics of Runtz and Wedding Crasher. It came in a sleek metal container with California labeling and a legit batch sticker on the seal. The buds looked beautiful and had an inviting citrus smell that betrayed a more earthy flavor when smoked. I got so lifted that I took a shower, even though I didn’t need one, because it sounded fun.
That was an hour and 15 minutes ago and I’m still feeling so carefree and inspired that I’ve been writing this whole column while still in my towel.
And it’s taken me a minute, but it just occurred to me who Randy Watzon is: Eddie Murphy’s R&B singer side-role in Coming to America! You know, the character whose band, Sexual Chocolate, bombs at the Black Awareness concert.
Something else just occurred to me: This is the most expensive eighth I’ve ever bought. Even when I spent a semester in the Netherlands studying postmodern philosophy and the dollar-to-euro exchange rate was almost 2-to-1, or when I toured in Alaska (where a standard bag of Cheetos costs $6), I never paid $60 for an eighth of weed. And I’m embarrassed to admit, the added delivery charge of $30 brought the total to a whopping $90. This, I reason, is the high price of convenience. It’s like when you use a food ordering app – they tax you on the delivery fee and all of sudden you’re paying $40 for some plantains and a pupusa.
Disclaimer 3: I ordered the most expensive flower on the menu. They had much cheaper options, including an ounce of mids for $60. Another thing: Please don’t ask me anything about postmodern philosophy. I got 12 credit hours in it and I never had the foggiest idea what any of it meant.
Despite the pricey purchase, I’m impressed by the product quality and service of using a random cannabis delivery company. It wouldn’t be something I used regularly because I can find better deals in my own circles, but I’m glad it exists and it could be a way to find a specific strain you want to get ahold of.
And yet, I’m feeling a little perturbed as I examine the bag that my order came in. They forgot my sticker.
