Your good friends at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell, we hope you know, would never advocate any form of illegal activity. One can hardly but notice, though, that these days, such a large number of American (and other) jurisdictions have marijuana decriminalized. Whether the explanation is medical or recreational, a concern with getting rid of weed’s distinctive odor nowadays is just good housekeeping. You’d think Martha Stewart would be covering this stuff!
I mean, if you’re having the boss or the neighbors, or even the parents, over for dinner, not everyone is yet comfortable with the smoking of marijuana for any reason, even if it is legal. So, you can waste your time, launching an indoctrination campaign, trying to convert the values and preferences of others to reflect your own values and preferences – an endeavor equally as notable for its futility as for its vanity – or you can just make the effort to not rub your personal practices into the noses of those who’d rather just not know.
What happens in personal space stays in personal space. In fact, that may well be the very condition of possibility for the existence of personal space. But let’s not get too philosophical about the matter.
Ironically though upon reflection, it turns out that even those who now show acute conscientiousness over this kind of aromatic discretion had our own first experience of such concerns in somewhat less pristine circumstances. A story from my own youth might illustrate the point. Certainly in the time and place I grew up there was no mistaking pot as legal. Funnily, however, though it was if anything even more culturally taboo than today, I can’t help remembering it as being somehow a more innocent time, when it came to pot.
So, there was this one time, my parents were away for several days, and I had the run of the place to myself. Over for a visit were my current girlfriend, Kimmy (ah, Kimberley, the stories, the stories, but let’s not digress) and also my good buddy, the ever pot-addled Dave. Our little crew was hanging out in the living room. This living room, by the way, was treated by the folks as a kind of shrine. During that era, of the mid to late 20th century, it was peculiarly common to see living rooms in which the soft furniture was all covered in form-fitting plastic. I can’t imagine that anyone still does this. If you know someone who does, though, let me know. I’d be curious to hear about it.
Well, cutting to the chase, the parents were not expected back for a good 24 hours, but us three, only recently imbibing from Dave’s bottomless stash, lounging on the plastic, were jolted from our smoky slumbers by the sound of keys prodding at the lock of the front door. Taken so off guard, I was utterly dazed and confused, and Dave rarely moved too far out of a semi-comatose state, but good old Kimmy, like the superstar she was sprung into action. In an instant she’d bolted across the room and with arms flying about at turbo speed flung open all the living room windows. Then she made like a streak of lightening over to where Dave was conked out and in a flourish swooped up the various pieces of his weed kit off the coffee table and stuffed it inside his jacket. I can still picture his laughingly startled expression.
Now, I know that some of you are going to doubt the veracity of this next part. I confess I can’t be completely sure of it myself, but what I recollect was that at this point Kimmy darted to the distant end of the room and proceeded to expel tempestuous gusts of exhalation right across the living room, blasting all lingering odor of recent weed straight out of the gaping windows at the other end of the room. All to say that, amazingly, when my parents stepped into the living room, there we three were, queued up with Cheshire cat grins, like the servants of an aristocratic home attending the arrival of the new lady of the house.
Look, my parents weren’t exactly cool in any sense. I don’t think they ever smoked pot and I’m certain they would have been more than a little disapproving of me doing so. One way or another, though, all this passed without great incident. If anything, they were distressed at the prospect of such a gaggle of scruffy teenagers lounging over their plastic covered furniture. So, looking back on the incident, I can’t really say if it was just that they didn’t recognize the smell of weed or if indeed superstar girlfriend Kimmy did exert a bit of her magic to miraculously rid the living room of the odor of culpability.
But, unless you happen to know Kimmy (and if you do, please let me know, I’d like to get in touch with her again), you’ll need more conventional methods for dealing with such challenges. That’s why we’re here at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell. We’ve got the lowdown for you on the gold standard of aromatic discretion.
If you need the hottest tips on ridding your place of that all too distinctive weed odor, you should follow us at the How to Get Rid of Weed odor site.