When you are stoned…
Someone knocking on the door is an INTENSE experience.
I am not saying that I have ever smoked pot in the privacy of my own home.
I’m not some kind of crazy outlaw!!
But I did deliver pizza to stoners for many years and I would knock intentionally hard just to freak them out.
There would always be a discussion on the other side of the door…
if you listened close you would hear..
“Hey! Someone’s at the door…”
Each word descending in volume as the speakers drug addled mind went from being startled to completely mortified, to the point where he thought hiding and being completely silent was the best way to deal with THE THING AT THE DOOR.
Then after a long pause the second voice would whisper-yell
“Did you invite someone over?!”
At which point I would revel in knocking a second time, this one more ominous and harder than before and then innocently step back into the shadows.
On the other side of the door, all parties entertain the most forbidden thoughts.
One person fears it is the police.
Another person fears it is their parents!
And another person fears it is actually a MONSTER!!
After some very quiet discussion involving several voices, they all come to the door together, open it cautiously and see nothing…
I step out of the shadows with a huge smile on my face.
There is fear.
Followed by recognition.
The pizza man..
Deliverer of dreams.
Not the cops.
Not your father.
Not a monster!
An angel bringing pizza!!
I would bathe in their adulation and say things like “Your total is twenty-six dollars and twenty-SATAN cents.”
The key was to say everything at the same volume and rhythm, to where the subliminal word you insert sounds completely natural.
This would cause each of them to look at one another wondering if anyone else had heard the word SATAN from the pizza man and then eventually dismiss the thought as insane or to hold onto it tightly, thinking that perhaps Satan was communicating with them and only them.
They would give me $40 and tell me to “Just keep it.”
“It is better to over-tip, just in case the pizza-man actually IS Satan.” they collectively think.
I would say “Thank you. POLICE RAID you fellas have a nice night.”
Occasionally one of them would say “Hey. Did you say POLICE RAID?”
I would say “No. I said BE SAFE. But funny you bring that up. Did you hear about all the police raids going on in this area?”
“No.” the head-stoner would answer.
Then in a tone that became more ominous as I spoke I would say.
“Oh yeah. They come in the middle of the night. They kick in doors. They use concussion and flash grenades. It’s all part of the governors new program to eliminate marijuana usage in our city. And the crazy thing is. They are not taking the people to jail. No one knows where they are taking them. People are just disappearing.”
Then switching to my most festive voice I would say
“Well. ALIENS talkin’ to you. I gotta go! Have a GRAVE night.”
And with that, I would drive away into the night, smiling, knowing that I had made an impact on these young men.
Knowing that they would have amazing conversations about sounds they heard outside and that the tv would be muted and things would be hidden and that when they woke up in the morning, they would appreciate the beautiful fact that they were alive and had not yet disappeared.