Yes, I've been blessed to have once purchased about 15 thai sticks in the 70s, and lots of Maui Wowie when I lived there. The Thai was unlike anything I'd smoked before. It was a real mind fuck. And it not only was it incredibly strong, it was also so beautiful to look at. You would unwind the thai stick string partially and break away a small bud. It took only one hit to rip! I remember the guy I shared the buy with got really weirded out psychologically by it. I could tell it was doing shit to my head, but I could handle it, no prob. It was just that we worked together in a hospital so it was noticeable when someone wasn't right. And the Hawaiian... oh my... You'd be taking your second toke when the first one would finally settle into your brain with a sudden loss of track of whatever you were doing/saying previously. And the body rush was intense! Your head and body would suddenly feel completely different, kinda numb, but oh sooo good feeling...every part of your body tells you it feels great! Of course there are other kinds of Hawaiian besides Maui Wowie, Puna Butter, and other local variations. Whatever you were focused on is forgotten and all that exists is the present. I highly recommend any true Hawaiian strain for PTSD!
Now about the 70s again... The biggest mj dealer in my college lived in the dorm suite across from mine. We became good friends. So I could get whatever he could. One real rainy night he asked me to go with him to make a pickup in a college town a little over an hour away. On the way back, in a downpour, I see lights flashing behind us. I tell my friend to pull over and he does... We are both really worried, and really, really high. This hick cop from a small town looks the car over and moseys up to the driver window. We were probably the only car on the road. By now I'm sweating bullets, cause I know what's in the trunk. And if he asks to look inside, we are done for... He's very polite and explains that he's testing his new radar device (they were just getting them in 1971!). No problem since we were not speeding. He sounded lonely...and wanted to show off his latest toy... and soon we were on our way back to our dorm...with like 8 pounds of good weed... Boy did we celebrate making it back! I found out a couple of years ago from his old college roomate, that that friend had been dead a long time. So I looked up his partner in crime and discovered that he too had just died recently. And that he had become a drug counselor, hehe. One easy way to score, lol!
Most cops were clueless back then. We'd get pulled over for some stupid thing and smoke would be billowing out of the windows and the cop wouldn't have any idea what was going on.
Really enjoyed reading through the stories since I’m pretty heavy into weed and I’m an 80’s baby so started smoking in the 90’s. From the sounds of it, looks like weed has got more potent over the years and I can only imagine how the future strain is gonna be like if these stories are anything to go by. Remember getting weed in the 90’s with the seeds and sticks in them, I’m from Africa so used to ge weed by the sack load(no lie) and me and my best friend would spend all day separating the sticks from the grass and it was painstakingly slow and tedious work but hey, where there’s a will. Notice I only said separating the sticks, used to leave the seeds in there. It was a general my known in my ends that smoking weed with the seeds in it would make you go mad so obviously we being teenagers, our aim was to pop as many seeds in our spliff and see if we could really get insane. Huh, good ole times.
I hated it when a surprise seed caught fire and popped out, blowing half the joint away. We used a shoe box lid and a credit card to separate the seeds but sometimes a few would slip through.
I caught my hair on fire once. That was in the late nineties. I wasn't supposed to be smoking at school and my long hair fell in the bowl or near the lighter or something. I wasn't even alive in the 70s, but in the 90s we paid $20 for an eighth of an ounce of what was affectionately referred to as mid-grade or b-grade. Not bad, really.
Gave a girl 50 bucks for a kilo in San Fran---she directed us to a house--got out--walked around the side of the house--be right back-said she---Never saw her again!!--'67.
Columbian gold and I got it from my boyfriend back in highschool. Being female it was kind of simply shared willingly. So I rarely paid, but I haven’t smoked anything in the last 20 years for the most part.
actually i never did and never have "bought" it. what happened in the late 70s was people, the people i knew, you know would grow it and just give it to each other mostly as a kind of hospitality thing. i really had no idea how i would go about it if i had wanted any bad enough to buy it. today in the city and the state where i live there are stores you can go to and buy it. legitimate streight up licensed businesses that legally sell the herb over the counter, but in the 70s when it was still, you know, people, a lot of people thought they were protecting public health by keeping it unlawful, well people would come back from wherever with seeds and just grow it in deniable places like national forests or even the planter boxes in front of government buildings.
we bought weed from other people in our circle. $15 a bag with stems and seeds. low grade, I didnt see a flower until many years later
Living in the Haight, in 1969-'70, we could buy a lid (about an ounce) of plain old Mexican (stems and seeds included) for about $5. If we wanted the better stuff, just clean buds, we could get that for $15-$30 a lid. A kilo of good stuff could be had about $100-$150.
Buying pot in the late 60s and early 70s was never difficult for me. I graduated from Georgia Tech in 69 which was next to "The Strip" where Atlanta's Summer of Love happened in 1968. It seemed to be everywhere in those days. Most people I bought from then were friends who'd buy a small quantity to split which I began doing as well. It wasn't long before I could have gotten any quantity I wanted but mostly would quarter pounds. When I moved to Charlotte in fall of 69, there was again no problem finding it. For a while a friend who ran a head shop would come over to my apartment to split bricks and leave me a lid for my hassles helping him.