Do You Want to Get High?

Keep your phone in your pocket

I paced the aisles of Home Depot for the 6th time that week. I scanned the list of projects on my mental to-do list, which was blurry at best, therefore realizing I'd probably have a 7th Home Depot trip to look forward to.

Adriana was on her own journey, scheming up new projects to add to the list. We didn’t need paint but found ourselves staring at the giant gradient wall of swatches. She became inspired and decided she’d paint the bathroom, so she closely examined the nuances of different shades of green—fern, ivy, juniper, basil, and dozens more. It was a solo process, one where her gears turned silently and I was not needed.

The man at the paint counter was loud enough that two steps in his direction would have enabled me to hear his whole conversation, which sounded pretty wild, so I took those two steps. This guy had been the paint guy since the first time I stepped foot in this Home Depot years prior. He is an institution. He came with the building.

The old man was educating a younger employee on the benefits of colloidal silver. The younger guy was coming down with something, so the old man saw an easy sale. “I’m telling you. These pharmaceutical companies are scared of this stuff,” he said as he slipped a small glass bottle out of his work apron. The young man took the dropper and quickly squeezed the magical liquid into his throat, and I decided to take two steps back, as I figured he must’ve been seriously ill considering he was so willing to dose himself with liquid metals that his coworker pulled out of his pocket at the Home Depot paint counter.

I recalled that documentary about the cult leader who turned blue after taking too much colloidal silver. I recalled that time my friend’s wife offered me colloidal silver when I had laryngitis, and then I also recalled when she told me they’re putting autism in the vaccines. And then once I was done with all my recollections…

I was bored.

I’d run down my to-do list, Adriana was still lost in her paint swatches, and the in-store entertainment had dried up. This was that familiar type of boredom that was invented in a post-technological age. It’s not real boredom. This boredom did not exist as a child. I’d find a label to read, or a cloud to watch, or a daydream to wander. But now I have a machine with the ability to fill my brain with noise, so boredom cuts like a knife. This brand of boredom has a very clear cause and effect, so as it took hold of me, my subconscious kicked in and relied on muscle memory to tell my arm to reach for my machine.

In a rare break from the involuntary reaction I’ve become accustomed to, just as my hand reached the frayed edge of my jeans’ pocket, I caught myself. This sounds unremarkable, but it is nothing short of a miracle. And in that moment, as I raised my head from the concrete floor to the two-toned walls of this warehouse of the store, I felt high. Like I entered some alternate reality Home Depot, where the colors were all brighter and everything was just a little prettier than the one in my town. The people were vivid and caricature-like. I could feel the colors, patterns, and sounds seep themselves into my subconscious. I could feel it all in real time. This place was a goddamn work of art.

And so that’s what I attempt to do now. I get high by choosing to stay here rather than reach for the dopamine machine, as I’ve learned that there’s nothing on there that can compete with the paint swatches and the garden center and the old man who gives out colloidal silver at my local Home Depot.