The many disguises of the drug dealer

It is inevitable that when people first start using drugs, they will encounter a variety of weird, wonderful and sometimes dangerous people off whom they need to receive their chosen contraband. The assortments of people I have met throughout the years on my various quests all have their own stories. However, as all users will tell you, dealers are not a uniform bunch, they vary depending on the substance, the amount you are getting and so on. 

In January this year, a small non-descript town in Essex saw the case of two traffic wardens in court accused of dealing cannabis while on duty.  As reported in the Daily Mirror, they were busted by an undercover reporter who bought three bags of skunk from the pair and in due course, got them arrested and charged. However, one has to applaud the ingenious disguise they had when they were carrying out their “secondary business” roles. There are not many jobs which openly encourage you to lurk around in the shadows, effectively spying on people without anyone thinking something suspicious is going on. Maybe next time i get a parking ticket, it’s worth asking if they have any skunk. It would certainly soften the blow of a getting a £40 fine. 

However, more often than not, having to meet your supplier is rather a tedious and time-consuming process. Whereas some are so paranoid that carrying out your transaction can feel like you’re engaging in some cold-war espionage with a renegade KGB agent, others are so worryingly care-free about your meeting, you feel privileged every time you walk away without handcuffs on. I used to meet one of these types who used to insist on meeting inside a petrol station for some unknown reason. Maybe he was in cahoots with the people who ran the station, I don’t know. Despite the disturbingly open arrangement we had, at least I always walked away with a free pack of crisps courtesy of my generous supplier. Unsurprisingly I recently found out that particular individual is now in prison, im not sure what for, but I can certainly have a guess.  

Nevertheless, as times change so do ones dealers. As I also found out, different cities have different types of dealers. One city I habituated in northern England had its own brand of suppliers. I called them the ice-cream taxi-men. The swollen student population meant that there was never a short supply of dealers. There were a number of ice cream vans which used to go around the student areas at some very strange times of the day/night. I was particularly intrigued about how many ice creams they could sell during the depths of winter, which in northern England tends to be pretty grim, definitely not ice cream weather. After chatting to one these “ice-cream” van men, I soon discovered what they were doing. The nature of selling ice creams means that you can openly have cash-transactions on the street without any one suspecting anything and I am sure they ran a profitable business. However, I soon noticed that the two ice-cream van men disappeared. Their rival taxi-driver dealers claimed the police had nabbed them, other dealers said the taxi-driver dealers “asked” them to leave. Who knows, maybe they even went back to selling ice creams. 

All I know is the days of meeting these sorts of people are long gone for me.  Now I’m back in my home-town, I can just pop round to my mates, and voila! Nice and easy. However, there is something I miss about my former days. A free pack of crisps to satisfy my munchies was certainly a nice touch. At least he was considerate about his customers needs.