I’ve been a budtender for nearly three years now — purely by accident. And if this column is any indication, writing is where my heart nests the deepest.
But one pandemic later, paired with a college degree and no job, I found myself working at a dispensary as a budtender. The name still makes me giggle; it makes older folks giggle, too, but, hey, what can you do?
Weed is medicine. Like, actually.
Perhaps this is a “duh” moment, but let me explain. I had heard the musings of the possible medical benefits of cannabis; I knew why my friends and I liked to roll up, but beyond that, the only thing I knew about weed was that it was fun.
But behind the counter, the medical benefits of cannabis are palpable. I meet people who’ve never tried the plant, thanks to years of stigmatization, who are sick, in pain, or unable to sleep. Some people have lost access to heavy opioids, some have just learned they have cancer, some are looking to manage PTSD, and some are looking for a replacement for alcohol.
Pain leaves you anguished.