Citation: Ka. "A Man With a Sledgehammer: experience with Cannabis (ID 52366)". Erowid.org. Sep 4, 2008. erowid.org/exp/52366
This was my third to last experience with marijuana. My other two were filled with fear, due to this experience. I'll probably never smoke again, as this 'fear' overwhelms any of the positive effects.
It was a summer afternoon, and my mom and brother were going to a birthday party. I decided to meet up with a few friends at the shopping plaza a few blocks from my house. I know these people very well, and I knew they would be stoned. Before I go further, I must say that I live in a middle class neighborhood, where there are few drug users, and there are very few crimes. Before I left, I decided to watch TV and smoke a few bowls out on the roof at the back of my house. About halfway through the first bowl, I heard a doorbell. I ignored it, because I thought it was part of the sound on the TV. While packing the second bowl, I heard the doorbell ring over and over, very quickly, sending my dog into a barking fit. I put it off as a Jehovah's Witness trying to sell me a religion, so I continued with my bowl. Eventually, the ringing stopped.
I was just finishing my third (and last) bowl, when I saw movement at the corner of my eye. I looked over, where I saw a man with a sledgehammer. He was standing directly in front of my back door. Slowly he lifted the hammer up and started beating in my door. I didn't know what to do. I was high as hell, sitting on my roof on a beautiful summer day, watching somebody about to destroy my property and possibly kill me. After sitting there for what seemed like hours, I had my first idea. He IS trying to break into my house, why not try to make peace with him by offering some reefer? Immediately I shot this idea down. He has a sledgehammer, am I insane? Not to mention, he could have guns in his pockets and kill me in an instant. Then I remembered some advice I've been told since childhood: 'Call 911 in case of emergency.' This seemed like a good idea. So, without missing a beat, I called the police.
Before I could sneak back onto the roof to see what the man was doing, I heard a huge CRRRRACK. My door finally busted in. I don't think I've ever heard my dog bark so manically. I stuck my head outside the window in time to hear a yell and watch the man sprinting out of my house, with my 15 pound dog standing where my back door used to be. I couldn't help but laugh at this situation, because this macho guy who tried to be rebellious got owned by the friendliest yappy dog he'll ever meet.
The reality of the situation finally hit me. I'm on an illegal substance, I just witnessed somebody breaking into my house while I was home alone, my tiny dog just chased this huge man away, and I called the police who could arrest me in a heartbeat. I called my mom: she's the only one who can hold me. While pacing around my house waiting for the cops/my mom to come, I realized that it would be a good idea to put away my bowl and weed. I also smelled like smoke, so I changed clothes and put them in the washer. My washer is in the same room as my back door, and when I looked down, I saw the man's footprints. It didn't occur to me at the time not to touch the crime scene, and I regret this, but I cleaned up his footprints. Oops. I put some Visine in, when the doorbell rang again. I looked out the window to see my friendly neighbours, coming to get me out of the house (my mom called them, knowing I was petrified. How nice of her!)
They escorted me to their house, where they gave me ice cream and soda. I had the munchies by then. I heard the sirens of the police on my street, and as they pulled up, my mom pulled up in the opposite direction. The cop inspected the house, and even though I told him that nobody was inside, he still entered with his gun to catch any potential subjects at the crime scene. Throughout the time he was doing this, my mom was holding me tight. Might I add how comforting it is to be held after a traumatic experience while high?
The officer asked me questions, and looked suspicious of me as I answered, acting as normal as I could. When asked where I was when all this occurred, I BSed it and told him 'I..uh..was on the, uh, computer.' He explained how I should have payed attention to the first doorbell, how I should have screamed 'GET OFF OF MY PROPERTY,' etc. After my lecture, he told my mom and I how he would call in forensics and get everything fingerprinted. I've been interested in forensics all my life, and getting to see it done while stoned? What a great reward for something that was that terrifying! I must have annoyed those innocent people with all my questions while they were trying to do their jobs. Finally, the police left.
All of this happened in a period of about 30 minutes, so I was as stoned and tired as ever. I layed down on my bed listening to music, when the doorbell rang once more. This time, the police were back. My mom grabbed me, and next thing I know, my mom and I were sitting in the back of a police car. For some reason, I couldn't remember why I was in it. I thought I had been caught with possession, and they were taking me and my mom to jail. In reality, they were taking us to the poor neighbourhood nearby to see if I could identify the suspect out of four people they had captured. To the cop's dismay, none of them were the culprit. The police took me back home, the forensics people told us that they couldn't identify fingerprints, and finally they were gone. Exhausted, I fell asleep.
I woke up the next morning, completely off the high. I meandered downstairs and looked at the mangled door. Suddenly, an intense fear shot through me. Worse than any other fear that I've ever had. I felt like I was going to have an anxiety attack, but I managed to throw that off by realizing that being stoned like that was probably a blessing. Had I gone through that sober, I would probably have gotten myself mauled by a sledgehammer.
My last two weed experiences consisted of that fear going through me. If it's going to be like that, I'm never going to smoke again. Also, after reflecting on this, I realized how funny it really is that things like this ONLY seem to happen when I'm stoned.
Experience Reports are the writings and opinions of the individual authors who submit them.
Some of the activities described are dangerous and/or illegal and none are recommended by Erowid.