8am we reported to the military style canopy tent that the grower had purchased as a workspace for his twenty-five trimmers. It was huge and had propane heaters on both corners and lights strapped trough the ceiling for cold, nighttime trimming. Here was the deal: we all had to start at 8am, we all had to work at least until 8pm, we each had to trim at least a pound a day. Those were the rules to keep this job. We were each issued a paper grocery bag with our names on them that were to be your personal bag for the entire time you were there. We did this so that at the end of the night, if you did not have a full pound trimmed; you could just start right back up again the next day with however much you had done the day before. Several times a day Kelly would come into the tent and ask if anyone had pounds to be weighed. If you had a full pound trimmed, you would bring it to her, she would weigh it, mark you down for having trimmed a pound and took the turkey bags full of trimmed nuggets inside. Kelly also acted as a nanny for the growers son, a 4 year old who made the girls’ hearts melt when he’d waddle out of the tent struggling to carry four pounds of weed back inside with Kelly. He was a helpful kid. In the afternoons the grower would carry his son through the garden on his shoulders and ask the boy “what strain does daddy grow?” “Ol’ Betsy” the kid would reply.
So the trimming began. In the morning, we would get our paper grocery bags, go to the tent, and wait for the grower to bring out bins full of dried cannabis. The stalks would be piled on the several tables pushed together to fit 25 employees and we would get to work. We found different ways to entertain ourselves as the days went on. We had all grown quite close by this time and had realized that we really had a fun, interesting, and funny gang on our hands. We listened to a lot of music, although it was always hard to find something that 25 people would agree on, so we took turns playing albums. People often retreated into their headphones in order to get “in the zone”. We listened to standup comedy stations on Pandora, and TED talks. We went through a phase where we listened to a lot of Dan Savages podcast, “strange love”. Trimming weed all day every day could get quite monotonous, so we found ways to throw random fun moments into our time. I started doing what I called a “random give it up”, in which I would randomly just yell to my coworkers, “alright, y’all, lets give it up for pat!” and everyone would put down their clippers and cheer and yell things like “yeah pat!” and “alright pat!” Then we would get back to work. We did anywhere from one to five “random give it up’s” a day for weeks. I don’t recall if it ever got old. But it was something that made us smile. We would go around the table and play “marry, fuck, kill”, where someone names three people and you have to choose to marry one, fuck one, and kill one. We told stories, we made hilarious inside jokes, and we were doing it.
Sometimes it was just still. It was just two dozen people doing their jobs. No one can joke around for twelve hours a day every day no matter how much weed they smoke. And we smoked a lot of weed. We were allowed to smoke as much as we wanted and we took full advantage. Joints were constantly going around. It got to a point where you didn’t even want a joint if it was more than half smoked because you were liable to be stuck with it, which was irritating for some reason. The amount of weed that ended up on the floor and ultimately disposed of would make the average marijuana smoker cringe, but we couldn’t shake the stuff. It was in your hair, in your jacket, in your bed, in your fingernails. We joked about how we could smoke our boogers because of the amount of kief floating in the air that ultimately get stuck in our noses. Our world was weed.