J
jedimike
This is a continuation from a previous thread I wrote a week ago.
https://www.icmag.com/ic/showthread.php?t=199496&page=3
This is a long story. Forgive the overly dramatic words but fuck it I'm drunk and stoned and alone in my room, awaiting god knows what, and I need to vent.
How my iphone got me busted
"It won't happen to me". "I cover my tracks well enough". "Only foolish people get caught". These things I always told myself in an attempt to supress the deep seeded fear of what could happen in a worst case scenario. You hear it happen to others. You read it in the paper or online, or on your local news channel. It seems so far away from your cozy life with your beautiful peaceful garden. But whenever I would smoke those thoughts would jump to the front stage of my mind. 'Just paranoia' I would tell myself.
I woke up this morning waiting for the familiar sensation of relief to wash over me, a deep sigh and a knowing that it was all just a dream. But it's not. This happened. Yesterday. 4:30 pm.
The doorbell rings at my mom's house, where I'm temporarily staying as I save up for a big move, and a sick feeling churns in the pit of my stomach. That doorbell never rings. A part of me knows what is about to happen. Somehow. Subconsciously. For the past week the thought has flashed across my mind a thousand times. The phone I lost. What did I have on there? What if it fell into the wrong hands.
That is exactly what happened.
A week earlier, on December 31st, at the post office. Left it on the counter. 5 minutes later it was gone. I panicked. Everyone told me I was overreacting. Someone just stole it and wiped it and is keeping it as their own. I'm overreacting. But I always had a bad feeling in my gut that wouldn't go away.
So I open the door and there's 3 guys there. They ask my name. They say they are with the DEA and want to talk to me, and could I please step outside. Every muscle in my gut tightens. I say 'sure'.
Do you live here? Yes. Do you have any other residences? No. Are you sure? Yes. So you don't have an apartment on ------ Street? Slight hesitation. No. Is this your phone? (pulls out my lost iphone from his pocket). There's some interesting video footage on it. Is this your phone?
At this point I know I'm fucked. He shows me a search warrant. Either I can cooperate and we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. He says they know I"m growing. They've been surveilling me for a week. Either I let them in or they are going to bust down the door and then come back and arrest you.
My mother is due home from work at any moment. Her boyfriend is home upstairs. I pray to god he is not watching. I decide to cooperate. I get in the back seat of a beat up unmarked impala and off we go to my apartment. They offer me a cigarette. I gladly accept.
We get to my building and walk up the stairs. If the hallway are 10 plain clothed DEA agents, waiting. At this point I have accepted my fate and make the best of it. I smile in a sort of 'I'm the asshole who's about to get fucked' kind of way. They smile back at me knowingly. I open the door and let them in.
From this point on I am actually fairly relaxed, and joking around with the guys that are waiting with and watching over me. After a minute the dank smell of sour d and chemdog are filling the hallway. Agents are coming and going, complimenting me on my genetics, setup, asking how long I've been growing, telling me I'm fucked, offering me another cigarette. I accept.
My neighbors are opening their doors asking me whats going on. I tell them I'm having a party. Are these your friends? No these are DEA agents and I'm the guest of honor. Laughs help to distract me from the fact I am in the worst case scenario and there is nowhere to run or hide. I just have to stand there with my back against the wall while I hear my powerdrill being used to dismantle my beautiful garden paradise...
In a moment the lead DEA guy is going to come out and drop a bomb on me, but before that happens I have to go get another drink and have a smoke, so... to be continued.
https://www.icmag.com/ic/showthread.php?t=199496&page=3
This is a long story. Forgive the overly dramatic words but fuck it I'm drunk and stoned and alone in my room, awaiting god knows what, and I need to vent.
How my iphone got me busted
"It won't happen to me". "I cover my tracks well enough". "Only foolish people get caught". These things I always told myself in an attempt to supress the deep seeded fear of what could happen in a worst case scenario. You hear it happen to others. You read it in the paper or online, or on your local news channel. It seems so far away from your cozy life with your beautiful peaceful garden. But whenever I would smoke those thoughts would jump to the front stage of my mind. 'Just paranoia' I would tell myself.
I woke up this morning waiting for the familiar sensation of relief to wash over me, a deep sigh and a knowing that it was all just a dream. But it's not. This happened. Yesterday. 4:30 pm.
The doorbell rings at my mom's house, where I'm temporarily staying as I save up for a big move, and a sick feeling churns in the pit of my stomach. That doorbell never rings. A part of me knows what is about to happen. Somehow. Subconsciously. For the past week the thought has flashed across my mind a thousand times. The phone I lost. What did I have on there? What if it fell into the wrong hands.
That is exactly what happened.
A week earlier, on December 31st, at the post office. Left it on the counter. 5 minutes later it was gone. I panicked. Everyone told me I was overreacting. Someone just stole it and wiped it and is keeping it as their own. I'm overreacting. But I always had a bad feeling in my gut that wouldn't go away.
So I open the door and there's 3 guys there. They ask my name. They say they are with the DEA and want to talk to me, and could I please step outside. Every muscle in my gut tightens. I say 'sure'.
Do you live here? Yes. Do you have any other residences? No. Are you sure? Yes. So you don't have an apartment on ------ Street? Slight hesitation. No. Is this your phone? (pulls out my lost iphone from his pocket). There's some interesting video footage on it. Is this your phone?
At this point I know I'm fucked. He shows me a search warrant. Either I can cooperate and we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. He says they know I"m growing. They've been surveilling me for a week. Either I let them in or they are going to bust down the door and then come back and arrest you.
My mother is due home from work at any moment. Her boyfriend is home upstairs. I pray to god he is not watching. I decide to cooperate. I get in the back seat of a beat up unmarked impala and off we go to my apartment. They offer me a cigarette. I gladly accept.
We get to my building and walk up the stairs. If the hallway are 10 plain clothed DEA agents, waiting. At this point I have accepted my fate and make the best of it. I smile in a sort of 'I'm the asshole who's about to get fucked' kind of way. They smile back at me knowingly. I open the door and let them in.
From this point on I am actually fairly relaxed, and joking around with the guys that are waiting with and watching over me. After a minute the dank smell of sour d and chemdog are filling the hallway. Agents are coming and going, complimenting me on my genetics, setup, asking how long I've been growing, telling me I'm fucked, offering me another cigarette. I accept.
My neighbors are opening their doors asking me whats going on. I tell them I'm having a party. Are these your friends? No these are DEA agents and I'm the guest of honor. Laughs help to distract me from the fact I am in the worst case scenario and there is nowhere to run or hide. I just have to stand there with my back against the wall while I hear my powerdrill being used to dismantle my beautiful garden paradise...
In a moment the lead DEA guy is going to come out and drop a bomb on me, but before that happens I have to go get another drink and have a smoke, so... to be continued.
use something with a special memory card if you continue growing & stay strong!!!! Peace
