Just say no mates

I guess there are hundreds of reasons why I've never dealt illegal, recreational drugs. A cowardly concern for my liberty, a discomfort at promoting harmful substances, the mind numbing tedium that passes for conversation among new comers to "mind expanding" substances. Hundreds of reasons, as I say.

Probably the most heartfelt reason is my desire, possibly even need, to trust those around me. I don't expect to trust heroin addicts, they are what they are. Consumed. Wearing their religion like an ever present dirty raincoat. Whilst I don't relish their company I'm not offended by the moral vacuum they find themselves engulfed by. It's their burden not mine.

However, as a seller of substances you are (on the whole) likely to find yourself among arseholes, whose only interest in you comes from what you can do for them, and that leaves me with an icy feeling in the bottom of my gut.

I used to live with a rather prolific dealer. He was my landlord, and I his lodger. The house was always full of his friends, but there was an odd thing about these friends though. None of them liked him.

Almost without exception they would say horrible things about him when he wasn't around and were often not *that* pleasant even when he was. But he had drugs and a warm, dry place you could take them in.

This was a bit unfair as he had many good personal qualities and he was lucky enough to have one real, lasting friend, with whom he was united in adoration for Colchester United, but he was the exception that proved the rule. The majority of those who spent time in the living room with its constant grey haze were there to simply to take.

I banned friends from coming round when one young woman I knew unexpectedly popped round, I was so pleased until she bought an eighth from him and I realised I had absolutely no idea whether she'd come round to see me or was just being friendly to the shopkeeper's assistant [me] in order to get through the door.

I simply was not going to put myself in the position where I didn't know why someone was hanging out with me and told her afterwards I never wanted her to come round my place again. She was annoyed and when we'd see each other she'd find excuses to ask (or sometimes demand) to come over - but the answer was always no. It was a question of trust.

For most dealers (and to lesser extent their lodgers) there is often an ambiguity to these relationships, I think. There are some who are very careful to only sell to their close circle and try to keep unwanted flotsam and jetsam from the door - but even then it's impossible to prevent the odd occasion where people get close to you because of what you've got, not who you are.

I wouldn't like that, and so I'll add that to the pile of reasons why I'd never sell illegal, recreational drugs.