Potent is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.
How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.
How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.
To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.Show less
Who doesn't love a hilarious, semi-relatable first-timer story? That's what I thought. Stick around and enjoy the ride.
As the youngest of all my mothers children, with a three-year age gap between myself and my nearest sibling (sister, boring), it was only natural that I would try to act bigger and cooler than I ever was. Right? The answer is yes. So from the very beginning of my rather wicked childhood, I would do exactly that.
By the time I was ten, I had already joined forces with my older brother to set fire to the shed in my backyard, bust a few neighbours windows, and spray paint NSFW masterpieces on the trains across the way. Yeah, we were totally badass. Plus it was a small town, so what else were we supposed to do?
It was around that time that my dearest mother decided that she couldn't handle our "shenanigans" any longer. What does any mother do to remedy a situation like this? Well... Bye, bye, brother. Apparently, my brother was being a "bad influence" on the rest of us (pfft... yeah right). So a week before Christmas when I was 11, my brother was shipped off to live with our biological father, whom my mother divorced when I was just a baby, and rarely had contact with. See? Told you this was relatable.
After my brother was gone, my life became really dull... I would sit around twiddling my thumbs all day. We were home-schooled, so friends weren't really a thing. However, while I was at home banging my head against a wall to ease the boredom, it turns out my brother was living it up in paradise. Our dad didn't have many rules, so he was going out, meeting people, and being his same-old self.
Skip forward two years. I was getting really restless with my life at home, and my brother was a full-fledged 17-year-old hoodlum. Well, this is where the story gets good. I wanted to get away for a little break, so I took a short vacation to our dad's. When I got there, I found my brother had turned the whole basement into the coolest chill-zone I had ever seen. Bean bag chairs, old thrift-shop tables, posters of Bob Marley, the works.
About a week into my little escape, I went down my dad's basement and found my brother sitting with a few friends, engulfed in smoke. Being no stranger to the entrancing smell of weed, I knew what was up. I decided to hang out with them to let them all know I was cool. It was then that my brother asked me if I wanted to take my first ever toke... I said yes.
That's when the first problem happened. Everyone searched and searched, but there were no papers to be found. Next best thing? Let's do a bong rip. My brother's friend had just bought a new, two-foot HOSS that they were all trying out, and it was the only available catalyst to supply me with my first taste of green smoke. Why not?
Being the responsible one, my brother packed a bowl, lit his lighter, and loaded the chamber with smoke for me to inhale. Thanks for making it easy for me, bro... Before letting me take the reigns of this beautiful piece of equipment, my brother gave me these words of caution.
"Only take what you can handle."
Now, I played the trumpet while I was growing up. What that means, is I have some pretty killer lungs. I put my brother's words in the back of my mind, and my lips to the rim of the bong. Then I sucked... and sucked... and sucked... until my lungs couldn't suck any more. That was the second problem... I let the smoke from my lungs pour out of my mouth. It seemed to never end. I looked to my brother, then around the room. They were all still, and pale. I had taken the entire two-foot chamber of smoke.
What happened next is a bit of a blur, to be honest. I remember feeling my heart race faster than I had ever felt it before. I think I could feel the blood rushing through my body, making its way to my fingers and toes, then back again. At one point, I woke up on the floor of the basement with my brother hovering over my face screaming at me, then panicking. I could make out a few words from what he was saying. "Hospital... I'm sorry... Die... Help..." Not the best words to hear when you're higher than Snoop Dogg.
The last thing I remember from that night was my brother carrying me up the stairs, and tucking me into bed. I don't remember sleeping, only feeling numb and waiting for the time to pass while my eyes deceived me with flashes of color and hypnotizing spirals twirling in front of me. Needless to say, but I'll say it anyways, it was the worst night of my life. These days, I'm far more casual about going green.
I want to hear your first time stories! Post your story on Facebook with the hashtag #FirstTimersGoingGreen. I can't wait to read them!