Accolade DistractionThe breakout meeting rooms at the Montage are opulent. Much like the rest of the lodge they have an old world European feel, lots of dark wood and thick expensive thick tapestries. They are meticulously decorated with obscure items like giant African masks and turn of the century globes. The only thing missing is some rich old white guy with bushy side burns smoking a curvy pipe in a satin jacket. It is the perfect background to distract from the textbook improvised content that I will be delivering this morning. This meeting space is also only a two minute walk back to my room. Therefore, small breaks throughout the day to retrieve my forgotten laptop cable, collect missing documents, or attend to a standing conference call, all fronts to hit up my oil pen and re-elevate my high, will not seem out of context. Two minutes to my room, two minutes back, leaves me eleven whole minutes to puff hard on my pen, collect my thoughts and cover my tracks.
This morning I put myself through the standard make yourself look as much like a nerd as possible process. It is a workday ritual I have put myself through the past 16 years. In essence it is wiping clean any presence of drug use and fortifying my look as a clueless dork. Yes, it sucks having to pretend that you’re someone you’re not, but it is better than unemployment. No one suspects the corny looking guy in the neatly pressed shirt facilitating a work shop on organizational / work structure and project roadmaps to room full of Mormon human resources professionals to be stoned as fuck. It is the perfect smokescreen. Even if I slip up somehow; lose my place in a presentation, take a wrong turn down the wrong hallway while an executive looks on, or lose a colleague in a pointless rambling conversation, I look so benign that no one would ever suspect my drug use. In fact, most of the time, the long pauses and difficult to follow babbling appear to be the deliberate reflections of a thoughtful, intelligent professional.
The oil that I smoke is usually free of terpenes, meaning that the funky familiar smell of skunky cannabis does not exist and those oils that do smell put out an odor that is hard to identify, especially for those who aren’t well versed in the cannabis culture. Recent access to these oil’s have made things like concealment while traveling, getting ready for work and normalizing with frequent recalibration trips much easier. However, necessary concealment steps must still be taken. Prior to leaving my room several things are done; Visine for my eyes, mouthwash for my breath and an earthy distracting scent like tea tree oil , frankincense or lavender something subtle to throw off any potential lingering drug smells. I do not want to stand out for smelling like strong cologne any more than smelling like pot. Smelling like you’re trying to cover something up is something people remember. Plus guys that smell like heavy cologne usually are assholes. The same goes for my style of business dress, asshole-like and subdued. Always fashionable but understated. Never anything more or less than what my colleagues have on. Usually a plain gray or blue button-up collared shirt, pressed gray tweed slacks, black belt, and black leather shoes, polished. It is the standard business-guy uniform and I wear this Monday through casual Friday. I wipe clean my unneeded, slightly prescriptive, designer eyewear, hang the do not disturb tent card on the dark oak wooden caddy outside my door (classy shit) and leave for the morning session. My glasses are the icing on my over-amplified nerd persona cake. Not only do they make me look innocuous, they help distract from my stoners eyes and they act as the perfect distracting fidget item.
I get to the meeting room early. It allows me to get the lay of the land prior to anyone else being around. I like to work out any weird kinks or surprises with the presentation material and space. I also like to take this time to clear my head and get into character. Waiting for my HR colleagues to join me in Professor Moriarty’s uncomfortable den, my thoughts run wild from the strong Sativa oil.
How many others have presented in this same room while being as high as I am? Where does one buy all this decorative shit that is manufactured to look as if has been worn and collected over the course of years? Who decides which objects to place together to look as if knowledge and experience has been acquired over time? I am this room. In its essence this is what my own office looks like. Trophies and plaques from previous companies touting my accolades. Each with its own specific story about someone’s blurred perception of what success looks like. Each with an intended purpose aside from being aesthetically pleasing. Each its own hustle. Company specific tchotchkes purchased or hustled by me placed conspicuously throughout my office to entice conversations about where they came from; “oh, these? my employees from my prior company gave these to me as a going away present, they hated to see me leave”. These handsome things deliberately chosen paint the picture of success but for the most part are total bullshit.
I need to pull it together people are entering the room now.