Randall Marcos offered a polite clap. The sound fell somewhere between being treated to an audience with the queen and watching from the hush of a greenside gallery as a frustrated golfer drops a short putt to end a disastrous round.
“Yeah, whoopee,” he said, dryly, tapping his hands together a few times, as New Jersey last week began selling recreational cannabis to anyone at least 21 years old. “They legalized it for rec use, finally.
“Yeah, remember when pot was the scourge of society? Guys thrown in jail for holding a dime bag? Oh, but now that the government can get a cut out of selling it, all of a sudden, it’s not the great evil? It reminds me of when gambling was illegal. Worst thing in the world! Gonna ruin people's lives! Yeah, well now you can bet on two rats running down the street, because the government gets a piece of the action. Needed something to fill their budget gaps. That’s why pot is legal now! Whoopee! (Expletive) hypocrites.”
Marcos has been smoking pot since his teens. Still does. Used to “fire one up” with friends in the 70’s while driving around Willingboro listening over and over to Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” on an 8-track stereo.
“If you got caught smoking back then, you were screwed!” he said. “Today, as long as the Big Man (the government) gets his, weed’s just fine. I think there’s like three taxes on legal weed. Three! Like I said, long as the Man gets his, everything’s fine.”