Confession of an AM Junkie
Normal Life
It was early when we drove to campus to pick up the gear for the Cheshire shoot. All we needed was a camera - Panasonic DV 500 - and a tripod before we could be on our way. It had been two weeks since Nic, Zach, and I worked on the C-horror/comedy film that consumed every waking hour of our lives in the twelfth month of 2004.
I could not sleep on Christmas Eve because I was worried about a movie centered on giant mutated killer butterflies. The time away from the project was needed for everyone. Away from the movie for this length of time my mind began to wander away from the task at hand.
Holding the camera for the first time in weeks I quickly realized that I had lost focus. Only one thing could bring me back. It became all I could think about sometimes.
Downfall
Just one hit that’s all I needed. One little hit. Nobody would find out. Columbia’s finest had a hold on me. A little dance in the lush green peaks of the Andes Mountains would get me going again.
Mornings were the toughest times. I would wake up thinking about my next fix.
Through my half-opened eyes I could see Zach in the corner brewing up a new batch. It smelled like the good stuff.
Nic never used to be a user, but the stress of the production finally got to him. He was lining up for his morning dose with the rest of us today. When we were working long days we would get up first thing in the morning and do it together. Our mutual addictions brought us together during the tough times.
Once the bean has you in its wicked grasp it does not let go.
As soon as the stuff was ready Zach filled the long green cylinder to the top. The steam rising softly from the life-giving potion felt warm and soothing on my red bloodshot eyes. Regardless of the quality the first fix in the morning burns a little entering your body. Today’s brew was no exception as the stuff was piping-hot.
I took that glorious first sip of the brew and the euphoria dripped to the very depths of my soul.
That was until I tasted the shit.
Depths of Despair
What the fuck?
Where was my good stuff? This batch tasted like the shit that strung out truckers used. Was the bag of Columbian blend cashed?
It was.
Zach decided to recycle yesterday’s stuff for today’s batch. He is good cameraman and a better actor, but he just can't handle his shit.
Like a crazed junkie scouring an alley for a discarded needle I crawled into a dealer downtown and bought a Starbucks Double Shot Espresso for my fix. That glorious nectar coursing through my aching veins brought me rushing back to life.
Moment of Clarity
I began to think straight again. This perspective allowed me to view the consequences of my addiction. This caffeinated consciousness, however, did not come without a cost.
The profits from my purchase here in Athens are funneled back through a complex network of suppliers and dealers to the international cartel in Seattle, Washington. I have seen their dealers setting up shops all over the world.
The beautiful cobbled streets of ancient Rome are now marred with their hideous bright green graffiti. Turf markings. A new breed of gang warfare is plaguing the cities and small towns of the world. And I am contributing to the spread of it.
Like all addicts I was beginning to feel guilty about the consequences of my actions. Paul Wellstone once said “Live like you talk and talk like you live.” In this era of rogue corporations and errant globalization we vote first with our wallet. It was only after my morning cup of coffee that I realized this.
It was early when we drove to campus to pick up the gear for the Cheshire shoot. All we needed was a camera - Panasonic DV 500 - and a tripod before we could be on our way. It had been two weeks since Nic, Zach, and I worked on the C-horror/comedy film that consumed every waking hour of our lives in the twelfth month of 2004.
I could not sleep on Christmas Eve because I was worried about a movie centered on giant mutated killer butterflies. The time away from the project was needed for everyone. Away from the movie for this length of time my mind began to wander away from the task at hand.
Holding the camera for the first time in weeks I quickly realized that I had lost focus. Only one thing could bring me back. It became all I could think about sometimes.
Downfall
Just one hit that’s all I needed. One little hit. Nobody would find out. Columbia’s finest had a hold on me. A little dance in the lush green peaks of the Andes Mountains would get me going again.
Mornings were the toughest times. I would wake up thinking about my next fix.
Through my half-opened eyes I could see Zach in the corner brewing up a new batch. It smelled like the good stuff.
Nic never used to be a user, but the stress of the production finally got to him. He was lining up for his morning dose with the rest of us today. When we were working long days we would get up first thing in the morning and do it together. Our mutual addictions brought us together during the tough times.
Once the bean has you in its wicked grasp it does not let go.
As soon as the stuff was ready Zach filled the long green cylinder to the top. The steam rising softly from the life-giving potion felt warm and soothing on my red bloodshot eyes. Regardless of the quality the first fix in the morning burns a little entering your body. Today’s brew was no exception as the stuff was piping-hot.
I took that glorious first sip of the brew and the euphoria dripped to the very depths of my soul.
That was until I tasted the shit.
Depths of Despair
What the fuck?
Where was my good stuff? This batch tasted like the shit that strung out truckers used. Was the bag of Columbian blend cashed?
It was.
Zach decided to recycle yesterday’s stuff for today’s batch. He is good cameraman and a better actor, but he just can't handle his shit.
Like a crazed junkie scouring an alley for a discarded needle I crawled into a dealer downtown and bought a Starbucks Double Shot Espresso for my fix. That glorious nectar coursing through my aching veins brought me rushing back to life.
Moment of Clarity
I began to think straight again. This perspective allowed me to view the consequences of my addiction. This caffeinated consciousness, however, did not come without a cost.
The profits from my purchase here in Athens are funneled back through a complex network of suppliers and dealers to the international cartel in Seattle, Washington. I have seen their dealers setting up shops all over the world.
The beautiful cobbled streets of ancient Rome are now marred with their hideous bright green graffiti. Turf markings. A new breed of gang warfare is plaguing the cities and small towns of the world. And I am contributing to the spread of it.
Like all addicts I was beginning to feel guilty about the consequences of my actions. Paul Wellstone once said “Live like you talk and talk like you live.” In this era of rogue corporations and errant globalization we vote first with our wallet. It was only after my morning cup of coffee that I realized this.
posted by Yonder Vittles at 3:25 PM
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