Discreet thanks: My white neighbor needs to chill out

volume 2

Discreetly Dank is a recurring column dedicated to giving a voice to those who dare to be horny. Each volume will be by a different author who needs a safe place to document what it’s really like to be a weed lover in a world where cannabis is still not normalized.

The elevator door opens and I am pleased that I am approaching the threshold of my apartment. I always try to lug as many grocery bags up as possible, even though my arms feel like they’re about to fall off. I can’t wait to get inside and let the stresses of life outside my home melt away. I stop to look for my keys and fall prey to Janice*, one of the women who lives in the unit directly across from the elevators.

The weed I have is in my possession legally, but when this white lady confronted me about it, my vigilance increased.

“You there! Ask yourself!” she says before I can step through my door at the end of the hall. I stop where I am and concentrate on fixing my face in something more reminiscent of enthusiasm before I close my eyes.

“Are you smoking in there?”

*record scratches*

Well shit I guess. What does that have to do with it?

“No. I just got back from grocery shopping,” I say.

Janice needs to smell her own flowers.

One thing I don’t have time for is moving again after I’ve settled into my building. I paid a man $50 a floor in cash bringing my West Elm sofa over here and we won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

And indeed, I just re-signed my lease. But Janice’s mood was less neighborly and more narc.

Why did I just feel the need to deny my love for weed to get out of the encounter safely?

I spent a few more moments listening to her suggest where that evening “skunk” smell might be coming from, and coughed away as soon as I could find an excuse to get my milk in the fridge. But even once inside, I was concerned.

Why did I just feel the need to deny my love for weed to get out of the encounter safely?

I pride myself on pretty much always having several strains of noisy, gassy cannabis flower in my stash. I smoke good weed every day. I’ve got my medical marijuana passport and I don’t feel guilty about choosing cannabis over the benzos I was prescribed in my 20’s.

The weed I have is in my possession legally, but when this white lady confronted me about it, my vigilance increased.

I ask what you do in your apartment? Do I care what’s in your medicine cabinet? What was the purpose of this exchange? Is it because I’m black? Janice had successfully infiltrated my mind and made me nervous.

Damn Janice!

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Attention: white woman

The truth is, no matter where I go, there’s always a Janice, a Susan, or a Karen willing to keep an eye on me. At home, at work, while shopping at my favorite stores and unfortunately also when trying to get in the door of my own home.

Even when I’m minding my own business, white women tend to need more of me to make them feel “ok” than most other people.

Even when I’m minding my own business, white women tend to need more of me to make them feel “ok” than most other people. Most of the time they need a little more of my business and a few more details to feel comfortable.

I pay my rent on time. I wait until after 8am and before 8pm to play with my Meg Thee Stallion. I’m incredibly careful about who I let in the building, and I don’t have a puppy to cry all day, but somehow it’s not enough to keep the Janices in check.

All evening I was too scared to ask if I would get an email from my landlord. After all, the smell of weed has been used to criminalize people of color for decades. And even though I have my medical marijuana ID, she could probably find a way to get me in trouble with my landlord or kick me out of my building.

I check regularly to make sure the weed smell isn’t seeping into the hallway, and I also think I’m a pretty good neighbor. But the truth is, I’m so tired of making huge adjustments to my life because white people don’t resonate with my adult black choices. Janice is no exception.

My home is my sanctuary and being able to consume cannabis in it is what makes it so special to me. And maybe it was just some random white lady nonsense that Janice served up that day, but I felt threatened.

I also felt like knocking on her door and asking who she voted for in 2016 and 2020.

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Where can black people feel safe?

Ultimately, my encounter with Janice had very few repercussions (so far), but I was still pretty paranoid. I hate knowing that she can do whatever she wants with the information, including setting off a chain of events that could completely mess up my life.

From Janice’s micro-aggressions in the hallway outside my apartment to ten beautiful black men being killed in a Buffalo, NY grocery store, it’s hard to know where black people can go without worrying about white people being theirs Tag harder, scarier, or violent because they don’t feel well.

It’s hard to know where you can exist as a Black person and not worry about white people making your day more difficult, scary, or violent because they don’t feel comfortable.

More than I worry about being evicted from my apartment for smoking weed, I worry about all of the Black people struggling to find a sense of security in their own homes and neighborhoods — places where they do deserve to live out life peacefully. I also worry about the black people who are being monitored, questioned, attacked and unable to exist freely lest a white person feel they have lost too much power or control over their environment.

Whether we smoke weed or not, I wonder if there’s a safe place for black people in America. It feels like we can’t be at home, in the store, in the car, or anywhere else. Not without being in danger just to be alive.

And while Janice thought her question was cute, she really just reminded me to keep my head on a spin.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think this country and people like Janice wanted black people to feel like they didn’t belong. But that can’t be true in 2022, can it?

Check out Discreetly Thanks from last month

Discreet thanks

Discreetly Dank is a recurring column dedicated to highlighting the stories and perspectives of cannabis enthusiasts grappling with the stigma surrounding cannabis in all facets of life. From micro-aggression to genuine health and safety concerns, the contributors to Discreetly Dank dare to be horny in a world that hasn’t caught up with their sophisticated lifestyles…yet.

Check out Discreetly Dank’s articles

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