Monday, January 23, 2006

Interpreting the Guy

If there's one thing that always rings true in the world of drugs, it's that a drug dealer is, at his core, a drug dealer. Sounds painfully obvious, I know, but it's about the only thing that is, in a world otherwise filled with deception and false promises. Of course, what is true about this statement is the very fact that you can always "count on" a dealer to make false promises. In other words, you can never count on drug dealer.

Even if you're an old hand like me--a seasoned vet with a "cocaine tongue"--you can never truly take your dealer at face value. At best, by definition, a dealer can never be anything more than "somewhat" reliable--and if yours is, you are very, very lucky. So even if you've "known" him for years, or you see him multiple times a week or order multiple bags at a time--single handedly ensuring that he can make his monthly payments on that pimped-out Escalade--and even if you occassionally "get involved" with him when he makes a delivery, you never fully know what to expect. Ultimately, your relationship is a business relationship, and there's nothing personal about it. And in a business relationship--especially one in which the transactions you engage in are of a deviant nature--the person on the other end of the deal will not be a trustworthy sort. If you want trustworthy, hire an accountant. If you want drugs, hire a drug dealer. But beware--no matter how friendly you think you've gotten with him, he still isn't your "friend."

Sure, "your" guy might value you as a customer, but that doesn't mean that he's not going to pull the wool over your eyes a bit and keep that carrot dangled a few feet in front of your face so that you keep using his services, and not those of the guy around the corner. Your guy knows that there's always some leighway here--there aren't that many "guys" around, and once you've called him, it means you're desperate enough to put yourself at his mercy, at least for a couple of hours. For this reason, it is virtually impossible to take anything your dealer says at face value. There's nothing you can do about this--in the drug dealer--drug dealee relationship, the dealer will always have the upper hand. It's simple supply and demand. The sooner you accept this fact, the better off you'll be.

Even in the face of these economic truths, even though your dealer doesn't have much incentive to lie to you, he always will. After years of dealing with dealers, I'm now in a position to be able to understand--ne, to be able to "interpret" what the dealer really means when he tells you certain things. As such, today I will reveal my interpretation of the "true" meaning of 11 common phrases in "dealer parlance" to you. The sooner you come to understand what a dealer really means by what he says, the sooner you won't find yourself pissed off that he didn't show up when he said he would. Remember, your dealer is a dealer, and no matter what he tells you, he will never truly be on time:

1. "Yo, I'll be there in like a minute." Translation: I'm still at least 15-20 minutes away from you, so hold tight and don't call another guy, because I'll manage to get to you right as your patience starts to completely wain, i.e. once the bag you're almost done with is completely finished.

2. "Yo, I'm stuck in traffic on the highway. Be there real soon." Translation: I started to make my way down to meet you, but got a call from a "real" customer in the meantime who unlike you is gonna buy more than one bag at once, so I'm stopping off to meet with him first. I'll get to you in half-an-hour, so long as another whale doesn't call me for a delivery before I get there.

3. "Yo, I'm right around the corner." Translation: I never left my house. I'm sitting here playing play station with my boyz, and'll get off my ass when I feel like it. You aren't going anywhere in the meantime, and you can't do a damn thing about it because you need a bag, you fucking degenerate.

4. "Yo, I'm just leaving another apartment now. I'll call you when I'm 15 minutes away." Translation: I'm up at some party right now, giving free lines to ladies in exchange for handjobs. I'll get off the couch and drive down to you once I bust my nut.

5. "Yo, I've got some other business to take care of. I'll get down to you as soon a I can." Translation: I know that you won't be buying nearly enough bags for it to make it worth my while to rush to meet your sorry ass. Unless you up your order to at least 4 more bags, I'll be taking my sweet-ass time, hoping that some other customer calls me in the meantime.

6. (when you exchange pleasantries) "I'm alright man, I'm just trying to eat." Translation: I just tricked out my SUV with a new paint job, hydrolic lifts, and a Sony Playstation.

7. "I'm thinking about retiring soon, getting out of the business, into something legit." Translation: I'll be doing this for at least 3 more years, until I either get arrested or get killed.

8. "It's not as great as you think. I work my ass off night after night and don't even see great returns." Translation: Unless I want to launder my money and give 60% to the launderer, I'm gonna keep having to stash my cash under my mattress, and my mom's bound to find it and bring all of the neighbors to dinner at Sizzler one of these days.

9. "I'm stuck uptown with other orders, but my boy [insert generic name like Ray, Lou, etc. here] will come down to meet you soon. He'll call when he's 5 minutes away." Translation: I don't know who the fuck you are, and I'm not taking the risk of meeting a new customer tonight. Instead, I'll send my stupid, inexperienced, and violent friend down to meet you, and if you are the fuzz, he'll take the fall and probably'll try to cut you in the process. I'll been trying to get this guy out of my life for months anyway. He won't keep his hands off my sister.

10. "I gotta stop by my crib to get some shit but then I'll call you." Translation: I'm way too busy tonight. Already ran out of stuff. I'll get to you if I have the time, but don't count on it. You're not important enough of a customer to make it worth my while.

And of course, my personal favorite:

11. "Call me next week, I've got some real good, pure shit coming in. You'll love it." Translation: Next time, I'm only gonna cut your order with baking soda, and not with baking soda and detergent.

So there it is, the guy interpreted. If you're a seasoned vet like me, you already know that a dealer never actually means what he says. But if you're not, and you call your guy one of these days only to hear one of these lines, you'll now know what I think he really means. And armed with that knowledge, you're set up to be significantly less dissapointed when your dealer doesn't come through like you thought he would--although you'll still be equally as pissed as you would've been otherwise at the "coke time" you missed. But you'll just stay up till 6 am to make up for it, so no big loss, right?

See, it's all public service I'm doing here on this site.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

reading this entry,,, whats the percentage of the shit you get... lets make it easy, really good shit, good shit, shit you'll do cause there's nothing else available, and dirt shit... lets see what it compares to us assholes.... -dr x. (first post)

7:59 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...


9:04 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

L-E-E-W-A-Y cokeheads know how to use spell-check????

2:10 PM  
Anonymous IOZ said...

I guess I had that coming.

Funny story, though--I've got a guy who lets me come over to pick it up, but only if I walk his dog.

Needless to say, the dog and I are tight.

3:07 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

You: Do you have a vile?

Guy: No, but I have a vial.

8:00 PM  
Blogger Mirtha Jung said...

like it when they say, "I'm going away to _________(insert name of neighboring state here)for a few months, to take care of some family stuff." Then they show up again like a year later and try to get you to buy shit off them. Hah! Silly coke dealers....

8:27 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

dude, my guy is like fucking CLOCKWORK. for serious. stalin, trains run on time, etc.

12:24 PM  
Blogger stinkstank said...

Damn, I love the stories, Edgar (or whoever you are). I take it it's fairly easy to find a "guy" in NYC. I can't seem to find one to save my life. You got any pointers? And no, I'm not trying to get your guy's number. I mean, how do you know? Like, do you usually get his name from another user or do you just ask around and risk getting your ass kicked or what???

2:54 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

What's the word up on disko biscuits in town?

10:58 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I am new in town and looking to score some product. Where do you recomend that I go? I've been told to hit up China Club or Deep and find the Russian outfit goons getting bottle service. Should I just straight up ask them or do I need to speak in code word? Is this really safe? What do Russian outfit goons ordering bottle service look like?

-Clarke Feature

10:21 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Are you from the city?

Its Ruby Foos.

6:25 PM  
Blogger heddylamare said...

Hello Edgar dear
I must say that you are an astute observer of human nature and compulsive behavior.
However I am compelled to add and important nuance of the dealer/ user relationship that you have apparently neglected.
You can be honest with your guy. Real honest. Brutally honest.
Not simply because you’re sauced and willing to spill intimate details of your life with the doorman, postman, Chinese food delivery guy, but because you know you can enjoy a very special type of intimacy with your guy. One without fear of judgment.
Or, rather, without conscious recognition of judgment. He may be judging you, but you don’t know and don’t care.

The intrigue of getting involved with your guy is indeed a sense of security, but not in regard to the quality of blow.

It’s the type of discourse that we all seek and few can get. It’s the ability to say what’s really on your mind and know that the other person is in no position for righteous indignation.

To quote JP Morgan, American financial genius and philanthropist, when asked why he spent the modern equivalent of 5K a week on working girls and brothels:
“The only place I can cry is in the arms of a whore”.

My dealer knows secrets of me that my closest boyfriends would never know.

He knows how I measure the virtue of a friendship, my most important aspirations, what with what frequency I masturbate, why fingering is bullshit.
He knows my position on safe, casual sex (often) and that, unlike most women, the importance I place on looks and sex appeal (premium).

He knows I’m full of shit, and that I’m aware the capacity to which I can be full of shit.

My dealer knows my roster.
Nobody knows my roster.
Men I’ve been in relationships with for years don’t even know I have a roster.

I bet you are reading this right now wondering what I mean by roster, in which case you will never know my roster.

Why am I free to talk incessant bullshit with the guy? Because I know he doesn’t care (He’s a sauced himself)? Because he has no contact with my real life or the people in it? Because he has little interest in me or my well being (he’s just given me a wad of an addictive neurotoxin, which he knows I indulge in way too much)?

Because he values me as a customer and will always give me the right?
Because he comes over and has a couple Grey Goose martinis and watches cable and listens while some 24 year old chick talks explicitly about sex, a situation too comfortable to go around throwing out judgment.

Actually its because he’s found Kabbalah.
It’s really brought him to an accepting place.
I’d be down with it except for the whole Saturday is the Sabbath thing. I think a Tuesday would be less intrusive to my social way of life.
But this story fails to illustrate my point.

I can talk to my guy because I know he is a transient, elusive individual to whom I bound by a guilty secret. He’s got on me what I’ve got on him, and he has nothing on me as I’ve nothing on him. Strangers in this mortal city who are compelled to keep a confidence.

Its one of those rare moments in the human situation where boundaries are blurred and secrets and lies and truths and vice and virtue are all subjective entities floating about.

E.M. Forster said that people themselves are not significant. Rather, the interactions between them are.
Is the confidence offered to me by my dealer not analogous to the feigned intimacy of a call girl, the obtuse reassurance of a psychic, the deluded support of a mother? We will go to the ends of the earth to find some semblance of unconditional acceptance in this world, including giving some chick money to pretend that she thinks you’re great and is there for you whenever you call.

I was referring to my mom but the same holds true for the hooker.

I’m lucky enough to have something like that delivered to me within 30-45 minutes of my call.
And, if ever he did get cheeky, I could of course hold his criticism in no esteem, and could always employ that ever so useful phrase:
“Dude, you can’t judge ME! YOU’RE a fuckin’ DRUG DEALER!!!

12:16 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...


Come on, be for real. You must be one in a million (or extremly rich). Delivery service? Grey Goose while chatting about explicit sex? Ok, that one I can beleive. That is some DEEP shit.

2:21 AM  

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