Chicago has some great legal weed, but dispensary procedure and Illinois tax makes me miss my "guy"

I am an avid pot smoker and have been for nearly half of my 25 years on Earth. I smoke daily, hourly, habitually, sometimes unintentionally, leisurely, and occasionally, I'll engage in binges that would incapacitate most. You may ask what my underlying medical condition is that would warrant the necessity for such an insatiable desire to get high? Old fashion Stoner-ism in its most simple form. I smoke pot because I love it. Cannabis, in my psyche, is a part of my identity. In similar vein to the famous utterances by the Trailer Park Boys famous alcoholic, Mr. Lahey, "I AM the weed." In glaring spite of this fact, I am also ironically a relative stranger to marijuana dispensaries. The foremost reason for this disparity is that most of my life has been spent in states with no form of legal recreational cannabis. I moved to Chicago around 6 months ago and was very quickly appalled at exploitive Chicago dispensary prices and taxes. The prices were so high, in fact, that I felt as though I was in a marijana theme park where the lack of other options justifies sky-high pricing strategies. It was almost as if the dispensary owners and Illinois lawmakers were consumed by the same grand delusion that made them completely and utterly oblivious to the very real and THRIVING black market. If any black market dealer had prices even comparable to those in the Illinois Marijuana dispensaries, they would be put out of business and, even more, their trust and reputation within the community of REAL stoners would be decimated. If I paid Chicago dispensary prices for all the marijuana I NEED on a regular basis, I would go broke. Needless to say, I quickly found a “guy”.

Like every black market pot dealer, he’s not perfect. He rarely replies to messages, usually taking a few days and a quadruple text before he finally caves to the volume of messages and replies with the same apologetic tone, then he kindly sets up a delivery of my affordable medicine. All of that might sound unprofessional to those who are not used to pot dealers. However, since he consistently sells me ounces for less than $100, and he is reliable, albeit slow to reply, I consider him one of the better dealers. The whole process with my guy is complicated, but I felt it was worth the money I saved by not going to a dispensary. That being said, the process at the dispensary is anything but simple. Pre-ordering, checking in with security, waiting in a usual line, and then, going through the bizarre, proprietary process of paying for the weed, are all part of the quirks of buying from a dispensary. However, their employees, which include security and “budtenders,” are usually in better moods than most retail workers in downtown Chicago, but the constant necessity for explaining the unique process is noticeably taxing on their spirits.

Yesterday, I paid a visit to my local recreational cannabis dispensary in River North. I had just returned home from vacation to an empty weed jar. There was no time to play my dealer's game. I needed weed, immediately. I reluctantly paid a visit to Verilife Dispensary. Its location, a block away from my apartment, was an obvious convenience. They even stay open until 9:45 PM. Not bad. When you walk in, you will be greeted by security who will ask if you have already placed an order. They will then scan your ID and allow you to enter. You then find your way to the end of a line that I have found takes around 10-15 minutes, at the busiest of times. The place smells slightly of unburned weed which is understandable. You will take notice of the diverse demographic of both customers and employees. Pot users are, of course, normal people, so this too makes sense. Diversity in the dispensary extends to the products as well. While in the queue, you may look at display shelves showcasing cannabis flower, THC-infused beverages and edibles, wax, dissolvable THC powder (meant to be added to beverages or sprinkled on top of food), carts, pipes, bubblers, bongs, lighters, electronic vaporizers, t-shirts, and other weed-themed merch.

Finally, you will be called up to the counter. There are usually an ample number of counters open to help efficiency. You will be asked if you placed an order online or in the store, and, again, for your ID. The budtender will leave to grab your order from the back. They will come back out, repeat the order back to you, and ask if it sounds correct. You will find it prudent to remember the (likely outlandish) strain name of the marijuana product that you preordered, which will seem like forever ago by this point in the process. Then comes the payment, which rest assured, also entails its own unique set of steps. If the card readers are working, which I have twice witnessed them not working, you can pay with a card. A debit card ONLY. You will be required to punch in your pin. This might not seem like a big deal, however this dispensary card system arranges its number pad in an unconventional way that noticeably slows down anyone who is used to the normal number pad layout. Yesterday, I paid in cash with the understanding from previous trips that the change will likely be rounded down as they have coin shortages. They will ask if you want a bag, the bag will be free, which is something I feel necessary to mention as Illinois has a well-known bag tax. After this exchange, you will follow the steps on the card reader or hand the budtender your cash.

Yesterday, I made the egregious mistake of assuming that, after turning down a bag due to my already having a backpack and handing over the cash payment, I could bag my own product. You know, like a traditional transaction. Wrong. The budtender notices the “missing” eighth from the counter and quickly asks me something inaudible. I replied with a confused “what”? The Budtender, having lost his .05 seconds worth of patience on the matter, somewhat loudly squawks “THE WEED”. I give a sheepish shell-shocked “Oh”, and retrieve the eighth, that I had already paid for, from my backpack, so the budtender can finish the final and sacred step of ensuring the last digits of the product number matched the digits on the receipt. Upon confirming they are the exact same, the budtender highlights the numbers on the receipt, and THEN you may bag your own product. The budtender then explained to me that I am “not allowed” to grab my weed until after the receipt is properly marked and handed over. With noticeable weariness, and in the style of a stoner with no respect for formality, I say “sorry, man”.

With the barbaric, almost 25% tax, I paid $36 for a $28 eighth. This price was unusually low, actually, with the eighth officially being $12 off on sale. Now $36 is not a bad price for an eighth of an Indica clocking in at around 28% THC, however, it is still far off from the less than $3 a gram from my “guy”.