As A Young Surfer, I Was "Way Too High At Airport Security"

Yahoo

25-03-2025

The other day, a friend asked me not to smoke a joint because he was about to go to the airport since he would have to pass through security and 'didn't want to smell like weed'. I agreed, he was nice about it, after all. I said that I understood. Inside, I giggled to myself thinking back on all the weird experiences on the road as a young traveling surfer…
My first solo surf trip happened when I was in living Boulder, Colorado and was craving some surf when an opportunity arose to go down to Nicaragua for a week. Flights were cheap, a room with a/c was only $20 a night in a cool spot called the Melting Elefante, just down the beach from Popoyo. The house looked more like a mushroom than an elephant. The owner later told me he designed the house with Play-Doh when he was on mushrooms, it was a perfect fit. This must have been around 2010, he had finished it some years prior, things were starting to change but the area was still very quiet.
Around this same time, the whole multi-colored universe of THC edibles and gummies had become readily available thanks to the medical marijuana movement and the ensuing 'green rush', which, in retrospect, was a pretty lawless time…like a Wild West for Weed. I don't even think they knew how many milligrams were in what they sold. Back then, my tolerance was high but some things just hit way different.
Such was the case with this well-packaged chocolate bar that had a stamp of approval from High Times in their 'Best Edible' category, it seemed pretty legit. I proceeded to eat a few more squares than suggested as I was on my way to the airport, why not, right? You Only Live Once they say…Well once is enough when it comes to being aggressively high at airport security.
I had just cleared the TSA line at the Denver Airport and collected my bags when it hit me like a ton of bricks. It was too much, too soon. Any seasoned stoner knows that the ideal timing to blast off is right as the plane takes off…not when you're still near security. It took every ounce of strength in me to muster the coordination to put all my shit away and carry on with the program. A sober person would have known that it was a quick-and-easy jaunt to the gate, but I was wrecked.
Fast forward 20 minutes (felt like 2 hours) and I'm really flying now but at least I had gotten some Peanut M&M's and all was well, it was nearly time to get on the flight. I felt compelled to offer my snacks to a stranger at the gate and they politely declined. I proceeded to spill them all over the floor. The absurdity of it all--with those brightly colored candies scattered around the boarding area in front of the impatient passengers--was too much, I doubled over in laughter. The stranger turned pink in the face, embarrassed to be associated with me. I laughed so hard, I cried.
The stewardess had to wake me up when we landed, I was the last person left on the plane. It was near 11 P.M. and I was still way too high, the only difference was that I was now in Managua and still had a 3 hour car journey ahead…it was a dramatic ride, for me, at least.
Well, the story continues–the waves were good, Miss Nicaragua came to stay at the Melting Elefante, I got the ride of my life–but I may be losing you now so we'll leave it here.