Just say no

My mother-in-law, who for purposes of anonymity shall be known as L, recently had a bit of an adventure at the grocery store.

After dropping husband J off at a bar for a few drinks with his friends, L stops first at Wal-Mart, then heads to the grocery store. At the checkout, when she reaches for her wallet, she notices a small plastic bag nestled in her purse. The little gears turn quickly in her head, and having watched enough TV to know what usually comes in small plastic sandwich baggies, she surmises that what she has on her hands is a bag of marijuana. Someone has planted a dimebag in her purse. A Christmas miracle for you or I, perhaps, but genuine cause for concern for a small-town gal innocently doing her shopping. Oh, what I would pay to have been the cashier to witness the shocked, unconvincing, quickly summoned poker face that no doubt settled onto her visage.

L quickly pays for her groceries, scoots with her cart out to the parking lot, loads her shopping bags, climbs in, locks the doors and speeds off, convinced that she's being followed. She stops to collect J from the bar--for protection. They arrive home and lock the doors.

Never having actually seen marijuana (so she claims), L proceeds to methodically check the contents of her dimebag against the spices in her spice rack, looking earnestly for a match, not wanting to believe. Could it be tarragon? Nope. Oregano? No. Parsley? Sage? Rosemary? Thyme? Not a chance.

J, being the rational thinker that he is, suggests that they just 'get rid of it.' Starting to sound like The Sopranos here. Of course. What else do you do when you find a quantity of drugs that isn't yours on your person? Same thing you do when you find a dead body: you 'get rid of it.' L refuses, saying she needs to 'sleep on it.' I believe that she actually did probably sleep on top of the weed, with one eye open. In the morning, L decides that the proper thing to do is turn it in to the police. So, off she goes with her dimebag to the police station. She files a report with a very unconcerned officer, who is no doubt thinking, 'Sure, lady. Just found it in your purse at the grocery store? Had a bad trip, eh? Sworn off the funny stuff? Sure, whatever, but we'll take it off your hands for you.' (The police department probably already has a file on her anyway, from her crank calls to 911--yet another story.)

So, security is a little tighter at J&L's house now. No more unlocked doors during the day. L is probably expecting a strange, scruffy man to appear at the door, murmuring shiftily, 'Mrs. L, you have something that doesn't belong to you, and I'd like it back--or else.' or some such.

Geez, the things that lie just below the surface in these little towns. I'm so thankful we live in a safe city like Toronto.