From: pez@manhattan.com (Gizmo) Subject: The Adventures Of Smacks Past (Part 16) So, Does It Ever Really End? Date: 1996/09/24 newsgroups: alt.drugs.hard THE ADVENTURES OF SMACKS PAST (PART 16) SO, DOES IT REALLY EVER END? The short answer to the above question, as with anything is YES & NO. I thought it ended in 1983. That's the year I laid down my guns as it were. That's the year I went into a couple of years of live-in residential treatment in NYC. Anyone who has ever been through one of these boot camp style therapeutic communities knows it ain't no cakewalk. But against the odds of something like one out of twenty, I made it all the way through to graduation! I guess one day I should write about my experiences inside a therapeutic community. That's a story in an of itself. But for now, let's move on. After graduating from this TC I tried to pick up the destroyed pieces of my life. It wasn't like they were just damaged here and there, it's more like there weren't any pieces at all. The on and off again heroin and cocaine use of the previous fourteen or so years ruined every friendship, relationship, family and financial situation I ever had. So now was the time to try to build from the ground up, the mess that went before. Surprisingly, this is what I did. During the next three years I got into the work force in various jobs. Sometimes I "manipulated" my way into positions that I was not qualified for. The awesome manipulative skills of a junkie can be turned to ones advantage in a big way. So in a few years time I was financially back on my feet. But circumstance, new interests and the stock market crash of 1987 led me into being laid off from my current job and as things turned out, I finally left New York for another part of the USA. This was a big deal for me. For while I had very little tying me down in NYC, I was emotionally unprepared for the move to another city. And although I "knew" some people in my new destination, I still was "alone" and scared. For the past five years I had remained totally drug free. I almost totally lost the urge to even think about it. But now, all of a sudden, I was beset with urges and I started thinking about that warm embrace of smack again. As things turned out, a few weeks before I was to leave town, a "friend" of mine in the new location called me and told me about a big party that was happening there and surprisingly asked if I knew where to get any heroin??!!! Well, smart ass that I was, I thought or rationalized to myself, "Oh, okay. Maybe I can get some. After all, I'm leaving NYC. Just one more time. It will be okay. I won't be living here anymore." And so, without too much guilt or worry, I made contact with an ex-program buddy that I knew, who had AIDS and was down in his cups and getting high again. A few days before I left, I made the score. With something like will power I took the stuff and stashed it in my car for the drive out of town. Arriving at my new location, I carefully took the dope out of it's hiding place and on the night of the big party, me and my new found friends got high. These people by the way, were not even occasional users. They just wanted to try something they never had. When it was over, I figured that it was over and that was it. Surprise!!! About three or four weeks later, a gnawing probing finger of desire was stealing through my brain. Here I was. Alone. No girlfriend. Unfamiliar surroundings. All the ingredients for a fall, right? And since I was such an stubborn individualist, I never did plug into any AA/NA network, either in NYC or in my new location. Hell, I had to do it MY WAY. Of course. But now, the desire was real strong. And I thought, "Fuck, where am I going to cop? New York City is a long way away from here. I didn't know where to cop in the new locations or even if it were easy to get it. And quite frankly I didn't want to know where to get it. And I didn't really know the dope scene in New York. So about 9 PM that night, I decided to call Glen, the guy with AIDS in NY and see if he could help me cop one more time. After making the arrangements, I got in my car and headed for the airport. Thank god. I was going to get high for sure in a few hours time. Well, after getting to the airport, I called Glen again to confirm that everything was okay. I got no answer! I tried a few more times and still got no answer. PANIC TIME again. After a few more tries, his wife answers the phone and says that Glen can't come to the phone. I made a big deal about needing to talk with him and finally he got on the phone. Well, you've all heard this one before, but Glen told me he could not help me. He said is wife "knew" something was up and she was giving him hell. I said, "Glen, jeez man, c'mon. What am I gonna do? Who else can I cop from? I don't know anyone else in Manhattan." The short answer was, "Fuck you. Hang up the phone!" Yup, fucked again, right? Wrong. A junkie knows no such thing as the word NO when it comes to dope. What to do? Should I give up and go home? Fuck no. I deftly headed for the ticket window and found out that the last available flight at 11 PM had just left. Well, by now I'm determined to get some dope into my veins. And I was not even in withdrawal in the classic sense of the word. Hell, it's been about three or four weeks since my first experience in over five years! I decide to take the first morning flight out at 5:30 A.M. But what do I do now, for the next six hours. Do I drive back home, sleep and wait until morning? Fuck no. I decide to stay at the airport terminal all fucking night! I pace the floors. I think. I crave. I feel all kind of shit. And I keep the heroin in my focus. "Stay on target, stay on target." Finally 5:30 A.M. arrives, and after hardly sleeping a wink, I board the plane to NYC. Thank god. I'm on my way. Arriving at Kennedy airport, I rent a car and head for Manhattan's Lower East Side. Alphabet City. It's been years since I hit the streets in search of dope. Surely the entire scene is different now. All new faces. New cop spots etc. Plus my rental car has "Jersey Plates," and as any New York dope fiend knows, this is a bad move. The cops are real hip to white boys, with Jersey or Connecticut plates in drug neighborhoods. Bad enough your white, but with out of state plates, your almost guaranteed to get pulled over. Plus, so far this little adventure has cost me over $700 in airfare and car rental fees, and I didn't even buy any dope yet. Are we fucking nuts or what? Well, I park the fucking car out of the area of East 9th Street and Avenue C and head out on foot. My first attempts to make a connection all fail. Everyone things I'm a cop! I guess I look to clean. Finally I meet someone who will talk to me. I tell this person that I'm looking for thirty or forty bags of dope, but that I want to buy a sample bag first. I give him $20 to bring me a few. I figure if he's stupid enough to take the $20 and not come back, then it's his loss and I'm only out $20. Well, you guessed it, he is stupid enough to beat me for $20 bucks. By this time, two or three hours has passed. Cops are spotting me. I'm having "withdrawal symptoms." I'm pissed. And then, as has happened so many times in the past to me in tight situations, it starts to fucking rain. And again, I'm talking forty days/forty nights type rain. I got no umbrella. I'm wet. I'm soaked. I'm desperate. Finally a woman spots me on the street. A Spanish woman named Cindy. She asked what I'm looking for? I tell her my "story," and make the same offer to buy a couple of bags before buying the rest of it. She assures me, that it's okay and that she is not out to rip me off. Finally we get to the cop spot and after going through the testing procedure, I buy enough dope to keep me stoned for a week. Genius move. Brilliant. Boy have I recovered or what? Right... The deal done, my brain flying from this very high quality heroin, I tip Cindy a $100 and I'm out of there. AFTER THOUGHTS Hmmmm. Well, I'm real glad my escapade went well. I'm glad I didn't get busted. I'm glad I'm stoned out of my skull. On the flight back home, I contemplate all this. WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING? There is no real answer, other than the answer that the monkey never really dies, he just sits in his corner and waits his turn again. This little adventure costs me a bunch. No I did not fall back into a real addiction pattern. But my having this much dope and staying stoned for the next week had a high price. It took awhile to get back on track after that. The subsequent years are filled with further adventures, some dope related, some not. More to come. Stay tuned. PS. Oh by the way, I was able to beat the airlines out of the full price of the ticket. Basically I told my credit card company that the window clerk glossed over the difference between the FLY NOW fair and the two weeks down the road price. They went for it and I saved about $400. You see what you can do with all this manipulation when you want to. I'm thinking of writing a book entitled, "How To Get Through Life At 1/2 Price!" Copyright 1996 Gizmo