In total I spent a year at that Chinese restaurant, a short but memorable chapter of my adolescence. Weasel was there for all but the last two months. Dan was with me until the end when we both quit together. This is the story of Weasel and his tragic fall from grace.
The thing about a guy like Weasel is that his novelty wears off pretty quickly. You can only take the dumb antics of someone so determined to remain on the bottom rungs of society before he starts to get on your nerves. After a few months it was painfully obvious to everyone that there was no growth in Weasel. He'll always be Weasel. In a critical age where we're all growing up, discovering ourselves, improving and moving on, Weasel was content to stay where he is. I'm sure even to this day he's working on his car, dealing drugs and trying to have sex with skanky bitches.
I mentioned before that Weasel delt drugs on the side. If delivery boy was his part time job, dealing drugs was his part part time job. As with any dealer, he eventually got big. Thanks in no small part to his ingenious idea of getting new clients through the deliver routes. Who orders Chinese food at 1 in the morning? The same kind of people who wouldn't mind a toke or two. And so his client list grew.
One day, Weasel stopped coming to work. No notice, no nothing. He just stopped. Well fine, that's typical of how teenagers quit work anyway. His position was quickly filled by a kid named Phillip. A mexican kid with a sweet camaro and a sister who was rumored to be (and later confirmed) the biggest slut in the local community college. What was weird was that Janet stopped coming to work a week after Weasel left.
I didn't think much of it. Until Weasel's brother called me a few days after Janet stopped coming to work.
Weasel's Brother: "Hello? Is this notafbiagent?"
Me: "Yeah, who is this?"
WB: "This is Chris, Weasel's brother."
Me: "Oh hey, wassup?"
WB: "Where is Weasel?"
Me: "Huh? I don't know. I haven't talked to him in a while."
WB: "Do you know where he might be?"
Me: "Sorry. He's probably out with Janet or something. Give her a call."
WB: "What's Janet's number?"
Me: "I don't know."
WB: "(long pause) ...You don't know where Weasel is?"
And the call ended like that. I didn't think much of it. An hour or so later I get a call from my friend Dan.
Dan: "Did Weasel's bro call you?"
Me: "Yeah, he wanted to know where Weasel was. Fuck if I know."
Dan: "Weasel is in a lot of trouble. He took half a brick from Chris and disappeared."
Me: "Oh shit."
A half a brick is a half pound of weed. That my friends, is a lot of weed.
Dan: "I think he and Janet took off somewhere. Chris is flipping out."
We both laughed through most of this conversation. I didn't really take it seriously. Chris was always misplacing his stash. In fact, most of the stuff we smoked out back was Chris's stash that Weasel skimmed off the top of.
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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