Why Smoking a Joint in the Park Is Completely Acceptable

Buzz up!

Minor Transgression Violation No. 3618: Possession of a controlled substance
PLUS: John H. Richardson on why Obama really might decriminalize marijuana.

By John H. Richardson

[more from this author]

Adam Simpson

Minor transgressions? Lemme see. How about egging cars on Dolley Madison Boulevard in Virginia? Flipping off a military policeman outside the Yongsan Army Base in Korea? Patronizing "bar girls" at an Army camp town? Selling LSD at Honolulu's International Market Place? Smuggling an illegal alien across the Mexican border? Trespassing in a closed national forest in the company of radical environmentalists?

But everybody does that stuff.

Here's a good one: I had a few hours to kill. It was a beautiful day. So I ended up in a little park south of Hollywood Boulevard. It had palm trees and carpet grass and a few homeless men stretched out on sleeping bags. I sat down on a bench and felt the sun on my face, and all was right with the world.

Then a guy walked by and hissed, "Sess."

Sinsemilla? Dude looked kind of sketchy. Plus there was that solemn oath never to make another park buy.

"Is it good?"

"It's got the little red hairs."

Ah, hell.

Ten minutes later, the world became a picture of the world, slightly blurred at the edges.

But just when I began to enjoy it, two thugs appeared out of nowhere and I got turned and tossed and twisted and cold steel on my wrists went click-click-click. And humiliation and helplessness were my portion.

Then they found the dime bag in my pocket. "Where's the rest of it?" one demanded.

"That's it. That's all I got."

Bullshit, they said. This was a known drug park. Honest citizens bought their nickels and dimes and skulked away. Only dealers stuck around.

Betrayal was the price they put on freedom. So I got a fun ride in the back of a squad car, sitting hard against the handcuffs while we scanned the sidewalks for the guy who made the sale. I was lucky; I didn't see him, didn't have to choose between being a rat and a liar. So they put me in a cinder-block room to worry about the worst that could happen.

After two hours, on proof of my steady job, they gave me a hundred-dollar ticket and released me.

Was it worth it? Absolutely. Not for the high, which was ruined along with the day, but for the principle of the thing — for a man's right to sit on a park bench on a sunny day, bothering no one, enjoying life in his own way.

Probable Penalty

You'll most likely be slapped with a fine of less than $500, but a nancy-pants judge could tack on probation, counseling, or community service.