One afternoon a coworker took me into the office and demonstrated how to use a glass bubble. Seemed easy enough: heat up the glass, melt the drugs, inhale, and repeat. I immediately realized this was way different that what I had done in the past. As in, ‘whoa, this shit will fuck you up quick’ different. I have never liked any drug that was obviously addictive, which this one was. Snorting speed included pain because you were essentially destroying your nasal passages with Drano®. This new delivery method was more insidious and I immediately did not like it. Especially how easily I fell into using it. It traveled home with me, and that was something I was very unhappy about.
The glass soon becomes your best friend, looking for the golden areas that show promise of another high. I spent about a month slipping further into the looking glass before I put the brakes on. Thankfully, I have a stronger dislike of needing something than propensity for addictive behavior. I did not like that I needed to do it more frequently, so I stopped. The coworker who had happily shown me down this hellish path was not as lucky. She soon lost her job due to her own fascination with the glass.
I spent another year working part-time at the head shop, mostly because it was a fun way to spend a day off from my office job. I had also developed a need to pad my resume, and had taken a ‘real’ job with medical benefits. The owner was glad to keep me around for one day a week because I have always had a strong work ethic, and wasn’t stealing from them. I saw the damage and causalities of the glass firsthand, and it kept me on the straight and narrow path. In fact, I have never again touched the stuff, nor would I want to. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that it is all the trucker speed I am on at the moment that spurred this topic. Pseudoephedrine is the only drug that works on my allergies, and I have lovingly called it trucker speed for years. Amphetamines help people like me concentrate. They alleviate the A.D.D. symptoms and the “Squirrel!” moments that often impede our attempts to focus.
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