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Petrified Pot
By Diana Novack, Los Angeles, CA

 While attending a wedding in Annapolis, Maryland, I ran into an old friend of mine who worked at the White House.  He suggested my sister and I stop by on the way home for a tour.  We agreed.  While walking into the White House security area, I realized that I left my Batter Up, one-hitter in my purse.  Panic stricken, I put the pipe in a back pocket of my purse and prayed for the best.  My sister placed her purse on the conveyor belt and it went through the metal detector first. Her jacket set the machine off and she was taken to the side for them to use the hand held device.  I placed my purse on the belt with the pocket with the pipe facing down.  The security guard stood it up in a very military like fashion.  It’s like he knew something.  I felt like, Billy Hayes, in the movie Midnight Express.  My pulse quickened, I could feel a tiny sweat bead forming above my lip, secret service all around, security cameras in every corner, I was trapped like the pot smoker I am.  I thought of faking an illness, but that seemed too obvious.   What else could I do I asked myself?  If there were any options I couldn’t think of them, well one, going to jail and having my friend get fired and drag my sister into a federal crime.  I guess I thought of three.

I walked through the detector and waited for both purses to come through.  Although not stoned at the time, true paranoia had set in and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.  There was a security guy looking at the screen when he pointed at my purse and said, “THAT PURSE”, in a voice you would expect from Darth Vader.  Sometimes you feel paranoid for  a good reason, like the moment before you get caught committing a federal crime and foresee the rest of your life being ruined because you like to smoke a little weed.  Luckily, the purse had a fancy clasp and the security guard could not figure out how to open it; which gave me a millisecond to come up with SOMETHING!!  I said, “Excuse me, ummm I have some very personal pictures in that bag, if you would be so kind as to give me the bag so that I can remove the pictures, I would be more than happy to give the bag back to you.”   I am good.  I could be a CIA.  He hands me my purse and I remove the pictures and the pipe, hand back the purse and enjoyed a lovely tour of the White House with my sister and friend.  Although, I don’t recommend it, I got away with bringing drugs into the White House.

 
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