So you do just that, and the money starts trickling in—you're making a couple bucks on every dime bag. You're eating at nice restaurants and buying rounds for everyone at the bar.
You start telling customers to call you "Hitman." Then the anxiety sets in. Thing is, bad boys really are very hot (the distant prospect of only being able to speak to my boyfriend through a panel of glass gets me fucking fired up), so I can see why others might want to follow the same path as I did.
However, I wouldn't feel right endorsing doing such a thing without handing out some pointers, so here's everything you need to know about dating a weed dealer.
Think of Bonnie and Clyde, perhaps the only mass murderers to be name-checked aspirationally by a pair of multi-millionaire musicians.
There was probably something like this going on in my head when my boyfriend and I made our disastrous first foray into the drugs trade.
A friend's older brother—let's call him Martin—asked my boyfriend if he'd transport several bin liners full of weed from Manchester to Huddersfield (about an hour's drive) for £100 [$157], plus gas money.
Any moron could tell this was a terrible deal, including us.
But the thrill in our relationship was gone, and I guess we both subconsciously figured that trafficking thousands of dollars worth of skunk might give it the recharge it needed. Arriving at Martin's, we carried the weed to the back of the house, discovered that somebody had tried to smash the back door in—most likely to get their hands on the 60-plant grow ready for harvest upstairs—and freaked out.
We told Martin, who somehow hadn't noticed his back door had been almost kicked in, and he called the police. His next move was to cry down the phone to his dad to come and pick him and all the plants up so he didn't get arrested and have to spend the next 18 months eating with plastic cutlery.
You'd have thought that ordeal would halt my boyfriend in his tracks. So, first tip: if, in their first large-ish job, your boyfriend almost runs into both police and a gang of men who'd happily bash his eye sockets in to steal some plants, perhaps reconsider what you're getting yourself into.
Hands down the best way to turn someone off selling weed is to let them know that they're going to have to deal with the tedious ramblings of stoners.
Heard about the time an Airbus had to dip at 34,000ft above Berkshire to avoid a UFO? Not particularly interested in the melting point of steel girders? Not everyone who smokes weed is an intolerable bore.
Not every stoner has a Ph D from the University of Wikipedia and a semi-working knowledge of what the large hadron collider does.
But fucking hell, a lot of them do, and trust me on this: it's impossible to convince them that you have zero interest in one of their lemon haze lectures.