11. Discuss exporting extacy to marti gras.
I would like to preface this. I was asked to do this Interview. I agreed to the terms, therefore I am breaking my normal set of PR beliefs and fullfilling my obligation. I do not believe in dodging questions unless I am legally obligated to do so.
I do not condone drugs, the following is an incident which occurred in my 20s. I do not do drugs now.
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The line for the New Orleans bound flight from LAX was slow to move towards the plane?s entry. An impromptu security isolation spot was set up just off the ticketing counter, the first point whereas passenger tickets are scanned for boarding.
The flight was bound for Mardi Gra. I am from Louisiana and always met friends in New Orleans for events such as Mardi Gra, New Year?s eve and Jazz fest.
My anxiety began to heighten, as it seemed everyone was being pulled inside the isolation ropes. It is funny, I have never tried to take anything illegal on a plane, yet every time I see people getting searched, I feel the need to double-check my bag on the off chance that a mysterious handgun or carving knife will appear (funny, I am anti-gun and I don?t really carve things). So fueled by the irrational, I search my bag.
I find change: ?I could have set off metal detectors with that!?
I find old chapstick: ?good deal, I have my addiction to feed?
I find a water bill: ?fuck?
And I find two green pills with Nike symbols engraved in them wrapped in a cellophane bag.
Lets back up about one month.
Sometime in January following New Year?s eve, the club on Sunset Blvd I was working at began winding down. It was 3am, most of us staff were busy cleaning the establishment. The place got tormented on Saturday nights by a packed Hollywood crowd, which left the place in total disarray.
It was then that the idea of driving to Vegas sprang into our minds. Anyone who lives in Los Angeles knows that Vegas trips tend to manifest faster than stomach flus: once the idea is pitched, it tends to develop quickly into a real plan.
So we load up the Ford F150 (or whatever big truck the guy had) and we are off to Las Vegas. We talk about guy things, I talk about shoes, times are nice.
We drove through the desert, much of which was flooded out due to winter rains. We arrived in Vegas and the sun was up, the city open and anticipation high. We drove into NY / NY and valeted, my friend walked up to registration, name dropped the owner of the bar on Sunset we worked at and got us 2 comped rooms.
We were set. Well, we were sort of set, we needed something more, something Vegas, something big!
Something more than a hooker! Something more than a picture with Wayne Newton. We needed big. And we set out to find big that night.
They pulled the chairs together for us at The Crazy Horse 2 and big was getting started. The place was packed. I was anticipating telling the strippers that I was an extra in ?Sex and The City? once, I was almost peeing my pants I was so damn excited.
My friend got up, came over to us and leaned down.
?We need big. We need to go big. I just made a call, Big is coming.?
When Big arrived, he was not very big, he was a small asian guy with a tight shirt and semi-mustache. He was young, he looked quiet and his head seemed to bob in rhythm to the music without his efforts, sort of like a puppet being controlled by BB King.
My friend palmed him money. He palmed him bills.
?The first bag has white pills, they are for fun. The second bag has green pills, they have nike symbols embroidered on them, they are for the next level. Use them wisely.?
I had never taken an ecstacy pill. I was also concerned because these pills came with instructions and I am pretty bad at finishing my amoxicillin doses per the doctor?s instructions.
?Relax bro, this is big. This is taking things to the next level. This is magic.?
My friend explained. He was a rather jovial, energized character always searching for the ultimate time.
?Cory, you hold the green ones, we will use them when we get back. I will hold the white ones and distribute them as needed.?
When x first hits you in a Vegas strip club, it feels like you are laying in soft pearls and strippers look like greek goddesses waving fluffy white feathers over you.
I fell in love. 42 times.
?Cory, are you ok? We ran out of money, we are going to Western Union, I hooked a guy up with a SAG card last week, he owes me a grand, don?t lose our table bro!?
?You got it man.?
It was Vegas, I was on a drug for the first time in my life, I needed to guard 4 chairs and I was surrounded by angelic strippers with feather fans.
When you are on X at a strip club, strippers are like fleas, they attach to you and quickly multiply into more strippers. The one that sat on my lap unbuttoned my shirt and rubbed lotion on my chest.
?I am from Hollywood, I just finished filming in LA with Sarah Jessica Parker on Sex in the City. I am the waiter behind her with a red bandana on. I have a drink tray.?
?Wow, you are cute. Do you like the way my hands feel on your chest??
?Yes I do.?
?Did you meet Sarah? Have you been in a lot of films? What actors have you met? Do you think you will be a star??
The question barrage was on. I was a highly acclaimed extra. She was starstruck. The section smelled like passion fruit.
The love was strong.
When my friends got back, they were surprised to find out that they needed to pay off 3 strippers pretty quickly or else our table would be going away.
When we got back to the hotel room, I promptly moved the green pills to my backpack. They were now reserved for a special date.
And that brings us to the situation at hand. A long flight out of Los Angeles International airport, a black lady with a wand eyeing me and a bag with illegal narcotics. This was a bad situation. I am not a drug smuggler and to be honest, I had some fun in my 20s, but nothing that warranted me that much different from other people.
I only had one real option in my head. I looked at the trash can and walked towards it. My palm sweated as I clinched the cellophane wrapper. The trash can was near.
?All B?s please begin your boarding process now.?
And then I swallowed them both. Fuck, I panicked. What the hell did I just do I thought?
I couldn?t help but think how stupid I was. I wanted to slap myself. I don't even do drugs really. I like going to bars and having drinks.
Of course, I am not searched (go figure) and migrate down the concourse. I am seated in the front of the plane right next to an elderly lady.
?Folks, thanks for flying American Airlines, we know you have choices when you fly. I do want to inform you that we are having a few mechanical difficulties. Looks like we will hang out here on the runway until we get a mechanical team freed up. We apologize.?
Well of course this would happen. I thought about hitting my seat buzzer and explaining the situation to the stewardess:
"Look, I accidentally carried a load of ecstacy in my back pack to the airport. I swallowed them because I got scared. I really need this plane to fly somewhere, I don't care where, just somewhere, even Canada Wyoming would be fine at this point. I have a movie career to think about."
But that didn't seem right when I went over it in my head. So I kept shut.
I began to sweat. I began to fidget. I didn?t know what magic would feel like, but I assumed this was not it.
It was then that an echo began to manifest along the rows of the plane. It would come euphonically down the aisle, bounce off the emergency exit door then abruptly bounce back. I tracked its path with my head. It grew, it sounded of a tunnel harnessing jet engines.
I began to sweat more. I reached down and grabbed the vomit bag and started fanning myself. I needed a water. My back began to crawl, my head soared, my legs elevated, my veins pulsated and orchestrated a presence with my heart.
Boom. The magic was happening at Gate B of Los Angeles International airport, in seat 11A OF AA FLIGHT 222 NEW ORLEANS BOUND.
?Are you ok kid??
The elderly lady spoke.
?I think I am. I want you to see something. Will you look at something??
?Yes son, show me.?
I showed her. She smiled but she didn?t ask me any questions.
I guess magic is sometimes what is not said.
