To Bogart a joint means not passing it on. This 420 story comes from the second Toker’s Bowl held in Vancouver, British Columbia back in 2003. It’s the reverse of a Bogart, a story of the day I could not pass the joint along. No one would take it. It’s the only time in my life this ever happened.
It had been many years since I had taken a vacation, and in 2003 I decided to go to Vancouver for what the Cannabis Culture crew called their “Toker’s Bowl.” The photo is a Toker’s Bowl, which you receive upon registration. That bowl holds one ounce of pot — 20 different strains. The judge’s job is to decide which is the best.
I flew across the continent arriving in Vancouver a few hours before the Bowl got underway. The meeting place was the Cannabis Culture headquarters on East Hastings Street. I took a cab from the airport to the store. As I got out of the cab a young man stepped up to me and asked, “Looking for some quality bud?” I was a bit shocked to be approached so openly, and my American paranoia ramped up, but I said to him, “Yes, that’s why I’m here.” He looked confused as I walked past him without buying and went into the CC store / headquarters.
Inside there were dozens of people standing around waiting to register for the Bowl. I met the boss, Michelle Rainey, while waiting my turn to register. I was meeting and talking to my 200 new best friends. Someone standing beside me offered me a joint. I accepted like a kid offered candy, and took my first hit since leaving home long hours ago. Magnificent. I took a second hit and turned to pass the number back to my benefactor. They had moved elsewhere. I offered the joint to the next person I saw.
A smile, a shake of the head, and a display of their own blazing doob. I moved to the next person in line. Same smiling shake of the head. Repeat three, now four more times. For the first time in my life I find myself unable to pass a joint. The reason is because everyone else already has one. This was a nice start to a great four days.