A pet peeve of mine has always been the negative stereotypes surrounding cannabis culture. We all know the ones… It’s been my goal for quite some time to replace the picture of a washed up, aging hippie with unkempt, uncut, greying hair that wears socks up to his knees through his Birkenstocks at the annual Phish concert with one of professionalism and taste, fit for the boardroom of a top tier fortune 500 company. My newest project aims to accomplish just that.
This is “Cannabis Class” (working title) an educational documentary series that explores the lifestyle through the lens of highly successful and ambitions Canadians, who’s recreational and medical use serve to enhance their lives and careers as well as their relationships. It’s going to be classy, smart and fun, with lots of laughs and exciting adventures. Nothing bad could possibly happen! This is going to be great, right?
Our first day of shooting finally arrived and I was pumped. We met local legend and cannabis advocate Jack “Black Jack” Cunningham at the Fredericton Golf Club to talk about just how relaxing and enjoyable it is to be high on the course enjoying nature and playing a great game. I had never played before, so Jack took me to the driving range to whack some balls before we tried the real thing. Jack is a great teacher. He was kind and patient with me and had awesome tips. Things were going great with the wedges, so Jack decided it was time to graduate to a driver. He wanted to demonstrate a proper swing for me, so like a good student I made sure to pay close attention, really close attention…
Too close. PING!
My coffee cup went flying as his fancy new Ping driver connected with my forehead during a textbook backswing. The signature “Ping!” sound reverberated through my skull as I fell to the ground. For a moment I thought I was fine, still in shock. But then the blood started gushing, really gushing. Jack and my camera operator, Michel, jumped into action. Michel led me to a bench, Jack ran to get the car.
When I sat down reality started setting in, I just got hit in the head with a fucking golf club! Michel asked me to move my hands so he could see how bad it was, his eyes said it all. He ran into the club house and came back out with a first aid kit. I remember him saying “this is gonna hurt” when he pulled out the disinfectant wipe, but to be honest I couldn’t feel it. Shit, I couldn’t feel anything, my head was totally numb. And the ringing in my ears just wouldn’t go away. They got ice and gauze on my head, cleaned me up a bit, then it was off to the hospital.
The patients at the Fredericton hospital’s emergency room stared in amazement as this blood soaked woman in a designer dress stumbled into the room. The nurses got me into triage and took a look. “That’s gonna need stitches…” the mean nurse said. I remember asking what I could do about the intense pain that was starting to take hold. “We have Tylenol”. Fuck. That wasn’t gonna cut it. “Can I smoke cannabis?” I asked. The nurse rolled her eyes and walked away, I took that as a yes.
So we went to Jack’s car in the parking lot and started smoking some Strawberry Kush, in minutes we were laughing it up and having a ball. Any stress Jack had about clubbing me in my dome lifted, and we all went back inside cracking jokes and being obnoxious. We sat waiting for 7 hours until they brought me in. The doc stitched me up and I took it like a champ. I got home, took some strong edibles.
The whole experience was a bit intense but it solidified my reputation as one tough bitch who will stop at nothing to get my message across, and anyone who says different can catch me out on the course!