"Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and for several days we had to live on nothing but food and water." W.C. Fields
As an Army Reservist, for 9 months of the year for almost 10 years I used to parade almost every Tuesday night, one or two weekends a month, and at least two 16 day courses a year...I was a Medic, as well as being a qualified Infantry Rifleman and an Armoured Corps AFV Commander, and I tried to get in at least one course a year plying my trade, usually as medical support for recruit courses, and a second course to increase my qualifications for more interesting roles...
Sometimes I could get into the Army mentality and sometimes I found it a little bit harder...on the courses when I could just put on my green skin, 'switch on Army', turn off my creative brain and just do what I was told, I generally had a lot of fun...you know, keeping in mind that we were all being trained to kill people in really quite disturbing ways and all that....but anyone that knows me knows that if there's one thing that fires me up it's incompetence hiding behind rank...so, there were some courses when I'd just feel compelled to liven things up...
Every military training course I ever attended incorporated a lecture on the Army's policy on drugs...as you can imagine, psychoactive drugs are heavily frowned upon when using high-powered large calibre automatic weapons...these are the ultimate power tool...back around the early 1990s I was attending a course for Reservist Corporals to become eligible for promotion to Sergeant...
It was about day 3, and already we're suffering from sleep deprivation... up at 5:30am for PT, and we're showered, fed and in the classroom by 7:30, lectures well into the evening and you're up until past midnight practicing drill and weapons lessons out on the parade ground, writing up lesson plans, spit polishing boots and ironing uniforms...we are Corporals training to be Sergeants and we have an example to set to other soldiers on base, so our dress and bearing must be impeccable... and in my view, it's at times like this that one must have a sense of humour...and, well, sometimes I just get bored, y'know?....
This guy, a career MP, is a Warrant Officer, which means he has come up through the ranks of enlisted men...he's done the hard yards...and he is about to deliver the classic, textbook anti-drugs lecture straight from the Manual...
"The Army has a no-drugs policy" A selective no-drugs policy...
"If you are caught using drugs or in possession of drugs while on Army property you will be liable to penalties both civil and military that may include imprisonment" This guy has creases ironed into his forearms...he hates having to deal with Reservists who are dope smoking anti-war tree-huggers when they're not in uniform...waste of time and money...
"If you experience stress, do not turn to drugs, do as I do and go to the boozer for a few beers" This guy is a caricature and doesn't even know it...
"There are many reasons why someone would want to take drugs. Can anyone tell me what one of them might be. Yes, Corporal" Indicating me
"Well personally sir, I've always believed it's part of man's inherent need to alter his consciousness..."
The silence kind of hangs there. Like a weapon. The WO has me pinned into my seat with one of those cold, emotionless unblinking stares that leaves me in no doubt that he could quite happily slit my throat and then go inside and eat dinner with the same knife....
"What the fuck does that mean, smartarse?"
"People take drugs because it makes them feel good, sir"
"Good answer. Why didn't you say that in the first place? Yes, Corporal Bloggs.....""
You see, this is why the war on drugs was doomed from the start. Drug use is in our nature. The only people really speaking out against drugs are the ones that have either successfully recovered from their habit of choice, or like the MP have never tried 'em, don't like 'em on principle, and will not accept that a few beers after work every day will screw their minds and bodies up at least as bad as most of the alternatives... who knows what the answer is, but the bottom line is that people take drugs, from aspirin to crack, because it makes them feel good...
A few years ago a Close Personal Friend was visiting Amsterdam, a place he'd wanted to visit for years to see what the fuss was all about...after the routine hotel transfer, a quick shower and change, and he's out checking out the famous cafes...one in particular quickly becomes a favourite, good strong coffee, a wide selection of herbal teas and cool drinks, and a nice line in locally grown hydroponic pot and Nepalese hash...it also has a number of nice al fresco tables on the cobbled footpath next to the canal, where one can sip herbal tea and take a nice scone with strawberry jam and whipped cream, as the 60-something English couple are doing...or, like the young Italian guys are doing, roll 3 and 5 paper joints from the large pile of pot in the middle of the table...by Day 2, CPF has settled into a comfortable daily routine; a quick shower and down to the cafe for breakfast; one tourist expedition - Anne Frank's house, a cruise along the canals, whatever, take a few photos; and then just a general dazed meander around the streets....it really is just the way he'd pictured it two or three decades before...
Of course, there's always the things that many innocents abroad don't expect...petty crime thrives in crowds, the pickpockets, the scam artists and hustlers...and organised crime thrives in places where people would really rather not have their wife, mother, neighbour or boss find out they've been...they pay big, they pay cash, they don't ask for receipts or anything else that might reveal they've been there...the red light districts, where prostitutes, cops, crooks and all the other night people love to hang out, nightclubs, strip bars, brothels, casinos...on the first trip into the back of the coffee shop by the canal, where The Reason Other Than Coffee is kept...there's a standup menu for a variety of types of bud on one side and hash on the other, prices by the gram...the shop dude takes out a large wooden cutting block and a very big and what looks like a very sharp knife, cuts an appropriate sized piece from the brick of hashish, slips it on the scales and gives you the price...he won't roll it for you, but there are booths off to the side, painted matt black with bright blacklights to roll by, and ashtrays...be their guest...
If it fails to cross your mind whose guest you are, and who you would be upsetting if your behaviour failed to respect the establishment, there are two large red and white stickers on the wall behind the counter; "Support Your Local Red And White" and "This Business Supports The Big Red Machine". Hells Angels. These guys are big here, in what has become the major conduit for all manner of pharmaceutical mood enhancers, in the middle of a river of cash and blood....you'll find them all over the world, old neighbourhoods, often revived ex-commercial districts, hip urban cafes by day....darker things come out at night...
In his afternoon meandering, CPF happens across an unexpected bonus - The Mushroom Shop...it's been years, seriously years...the shop is very small, but clean and tidy inside...among the usual paraphernalia is a small glass fronted refrigerator, filled with plastic takeaway containers as you'd find in a Chinese restaurant...except these have a range of magic mushrooms, each with a short summary of what effects one can expect from each..."bright colours", "enhanced sense of euphoria", "for experienced users only".....he opts for possible mild hallucinations and bright colours....
An hour later, he has survived the onset, unfamiliar after so many years of abstinence, traffic, other pedestrians and having been attacked by a mime....I hate mimes, I don't know about you....I hate street theatre generally, anything where you're likely to get singled out for comment or dragged into the performance...an interesting feature of the cafes around the Rembrandtplein is that all the chairs are facing the street...it works well, there's always something to see in the middle of the square...
A pair of buskers sets up on the footpath, a young white guy with a scruffy afro and a tie-dyed t-shirt on a guitar and a blonde female singer...a midget blond....bright platinum blonde hair, a yellow croptop and fluoro purple spandex capri pants, and she is belting out the tunes for all she's worth, "ROLLIN' ! ROLLIN' ! ROLLIN' ON A RIVERRR..."....he's transfixed....,his travelling companion nudges his arm and says "They're great, aren't they?"....to which CPF replies "Oh thank Christ you can see them too...."
It's fun. However you slice it, people do it because it makes them feel better. I have no idea what the answer is, but the cure of prohibition seems worse than the disease.
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