After almost a year of being unemployed, doing various things, smoking pot, and trying to figure out where to go next, I have a new job—sort of.
I’ve been trying to get in the medical marijuana industry for awhile with no luck, until recently. After a couple of interviews, the second being with an owner, I was in.
What really sealed the deal, was crossing paths with the owner and the compliance officer, who interviewed me the first time, at a city council meeting, where the city proposed additional bans on marijuana, which would have made it illegal to use marijuana in my city despite being legal in my state.
They were quite pleased to see me there, as I went out of my way to greet them as I saw them arrive.
I have to cover my tattoos, which sucks. But it’s the owner’s rules and if I want to volunteer, as they call it, I got to cover them bitches up. This means two black arm sleeves a big bandaid on my neck, and blue medical gloves.
The employees wear scrubs, so the gloves won’t be out of place. I don’t mind wearing scrubs, but I’m not thrilled about covering up my ink. I hope to move inside the office to answer phones, which is what they need.
“After a week or two, we’ll see how you like it, and if you want stay,” I’m told.
It’s a good deal. Sort of a probationary training period. And I’m sure it’s for the boss to feel me out a bit, to see if I’m trustworthy and all the jazz I sold him.
The owner seems to like me which is always a good thing.
But in the end, I got my foot in the door. Which is all I wanted. From here I’m trying to learn what I can to advance myself in a career in the cannabis industry of some sort.
I start tomorrow morning and I’m excited—nervous, but excited.