Jimmy the Weed
This story goes out Tara, who requested it.
In 1997, I bought my first house on Tremont Street in East Dallas. The previous owner was a crazy guy named Jimmy who was a former accountant with Arthur Anderson who'd decided to become a free lance photographer. He needed money to finance his enormous lifestyle change (Arthur Anderson employees back then made lots of money and free lance photographers, well not so much), so he decided to sell the house.
Let's just say that Jimmy was a free spirit. He was nice, if not a little scatter brained. The deal went over easy. Except the day before I was suppose to move in, Jimmy was still in the house. He was supposed to have left four days earlier. Jimmy just had trouble organizing himself to move out. My real estate agent had to go over and tell Jimmy that the house was no longer his and it was time for him to leave.
So the day I took possession, Jimmy was still in the house. I went over to pick up the keys from Jimmy himself. Jimmy had most of his stuff out of the house, but he was running around like a mad man to finish up. He says: "Hey man. It's been a little crazy trying to get out. I've been up all night. I thought smoking some pot would help. You wanna hit?"
"No thanks Cheech. It's a little early for me," I said. It was true. It was 9:30 in the morning. And even though I'd just made the biggest purchase of my life, I didn't think the moment was right to celebrate by smoking cannabis with some whacky former accountant.
Four months went by and I had a big house warming party. I have a lot of friends who are police officers because I used to be a police beat reporter for a large metropolitan newspaper. So they came to the party. From this experience, I learned that cops are fun at parties, but it's best not to invite them to your party. They tend to be loud and trash your front yard, causing other cops to show up who are on duty to take care of the cops that are off duty and attending your party.
So the morning after the party, I was picking up bottles in my front yard that the cops had deposited. And I noticed something in the front flower bed something that I couldn't believe I'd missed before. The cops must have missed it too. It was a two-and-half foot tall marijuana plant, courtesy of the previous owner.
I first told the Jimmy story to Tara. And she dubbed him "Jimmy the Weed."
In 1997, I bought my first house on Tremont Street in East Dallas. The previous owner was a crazy guy named Jimmy who was a former accountant with Arthur Anderson who'd decided to become a free lance photographer. He needed money to finance his enormous lifestyle change (Arthur Anderson employees back then made lots of money and free lance photographers, well not so much), so he decided to sell the house.
Let's just say that Jimmy was a free spirit. He was nice, if not a little scatter brained. The deal went over easy. Except the day before I was suppose to move in, Jimmy was still in the house. He was supposed to have left four days earlier. Jimmy just had trouble organizing himself to move out. My real estate agent had to go over and tell Jimmy that the house was no longer his and it was time for him to leave.
So the day I took possession, Jimmy was still in the house. I went over to pick up the keys from Jimmy himself. Jimmy had most of his stuff out of the house, but he was running around like a mad man to finish up. He says: "Hey man. It's been a little crazy trying to get out. I've been up all night. I thought smoking some pot would help. You wanna hit?"
"No thanks Cheech. It's a little early for me," I said. It was true. It was 9:30 in the morning. And even though I'd just made the biggest purchase of my life, I didn't think the moment was right to celebrate by smoking cannabis with some whacky former accountant.
Four months went by and I had a big house warming party. I have a lot of friends who are police officers because I used to be a police beat reporter for a large metropolitan newspaper. So they came to the party. From this experience, I learned that cops are fun at parties, but it's best not to invite them to your party. They tend to be loud and trash your front yard, causing other cops to show up who are on duty to take care of the cops that are off duty and attending your party.
So the morning after the party, I was picking up bottles in my front yard that the cops had deposited. And I noticed something in the front flower bed something that I couldn't believe I'd missed before. The cops must have missed it too. It was a two-and-half foot tall marijuana plant, courtesy of the previous owner.
I first told the Jimmy story to Tara. And she dubbed him "Jimmy the Weed."
posted by john clarke at 12:28 PM
2 Comments:
YAY!
I will alos sponsor this story..greatness
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