This is the 'poetic' version of what happened to me while I was working as a waiter in a local steakhouse.The story goes like this:
While working at this steakhouse I met a guy named Chuck,who had been hired as a dishwasher.Around 8 pm,on what was his first night working at the steakhouse,Chuck approached me and said "Hey,at 8:30 I am gonna get me a bag of weed." So I asked him if he would be willing to sell me 5 or 10 dollars worth,to which he said "Sure,no problem."
At 9pm I asked him how everything went to which he said;"Ah,the bag was too small man,so I passed on it." For the next three nights this whole routine was repeated,with the only difference being the reason the deal fell through.
So, I finally told him;"Look man,do me a favor.Instead of coming to me and telling me about these 'potential' deals you have going every night,wait until you have ACTUALLY DONE one then come talk to me.
About a week later while we were both clocking out after our shifts,Chuck turned to me and as he tapped the right front pocket of his pants,said "Man I got me some good weed here."To which I said "Wait a minute!You have it on your person right now?!" To which he replied that he had it right in his pants pocket.I asked him if it was the KGB green bud or brown.and he answered me with ;"I don't know what color it is,weed is weed." I said "OK then,let's have a look at it." to which he said "I can't pull it out right here man,what are you trying to get us busted." -------
And I think it's explained in the poem what happens from there.
There is this story,
So ridiculous it happens to be,
That something this absurd,
Could only happen to me.
While working at a local steakhouse,
I met a guy named Chuck,
Who,when it came to buying marijuana,
Didn't seem to have much luck.
Night after night,
He would try his very best,
To score the elusive gonja,
And fullfill his mighty quest.
It would soon seem to be a given though,
That Chuck was never going to score any shit,
Till the one day down at the time clock,
The day I will not soon forget.
"I got me some good weed."
Chuck said while clocking out,
"You have it on your person?" I asked,
He replied,"Right here in my pocket,no doubt."
So I asked if I could see it,
To which he replied as though quite disgusted,
"I can't pull it out right here,
What,do you want to get us both busted?"
I suggested we go into the men's room,
So I could see his elusive stash,
And see if he would be willing to share some,
For a ride home and a little cash.
As we stood at the urinals Chuck said,
"After buying this I may be broke,"
Looking down at his hands he added,
"But this here is some good smoke."
So I leaned to look over the partition,
A bag of pot I expected to see,
Instead he was holding his penis,
As he began to shout at me.
"You trying to look at my pecker,man?!"
"What are you some kind of queer?!"
"No," I cried,"I thought you were showing it to me!
Remember that's why we came in here."
"Oh I guess you were just teasing me again,"I said
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
And only then,as I turned to leave,
Did I suddenly realize.
That there in the doorway stood a man,
Who must have thought my behavior to be quite absurd,
Given what he had just seen,
Together with what he had just heard.
I wanted to explain to him,
That things were not as they appeared,
That this was supposed to be a drug transaction,
Though my actions would suggest I am queer.
What could be said though,to this man,
Who,upon enetering the men's room,did infact see,
One man viewing the other's johnson saying,
"Hey I thought you were showing it to me!"
****