We here at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell, of course, do not promote illegal activities. However, there are now so many jurisdictions in the U.S. in which pot has been decriminalized, either for medical or even recreational purposes, that a concern with getting rid of the rather distinctive odor is just a matter of good decorum.
A dinner invitation to your employer, a next door neighbor, or your in-laws, shouldn't be an aromatically awkward occasion. It doesn't matter if it's legal; some people just remain uncomfortable, for whatever reason, with marijuana smoking. At that point, the choices are trying to change other people's values and preferences to your own - an undertaking equally as notable for its futility as for its vanity - or you can just exercise a little discretion.
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.
The irony though is that many of us today who are conscientious about the virtue of aromatic discretion had our first experience with such matters under quite different circumstances. In my youth, and my hometown, pot was certainly illegal, though, through the perhaps somewhat rose colored glasses of recollection, there seems to have been a bit more of an innocence about it than there is today. Still, it wasn't on.
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.
Alas, despite my best efforts, I digress. Well, there we are, the three of us, having only just recently imbibed from Dave's perpetual stash, splayed in our teenage languish over the plastic furniture. Then, horror of horrors, the distinctive sound of keys prodding at the front door lock shocked us out of our reveries. Well, all but Dave, in a state of infinite reverie, I expect. Even I though, taken off guard, was rather dazed and confused. Good old Kimmy, though, was her usual rockstar in action. Like a coiled cat she sprung from the couch and dashed the length of the living room, like some kind of crazy wizard, her arms flayed about with mystical speed, throwing open all the living room windows. She then flew like the wind back across the room, where, in a death-defying flourish, in one fell sweep, she scooped up Dave's various weed paraphernalia off the coffee table, proceeding to stick it inside his jacket.
Now, I'm not sure about this part, but I seem to recall that she then darted to the other end of the room and proceeded to exhale great gusts of blown air across the living room, sweeping the lingering weed odor out the gaping windows. Well, believe it or not, by the time the parents had made their way to the living room the three of us were standing in a row, with slightly improbable grins, something like the service staff of a mansion waiting to greet the new lady of the house upon her arrival.
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.
A dinner invitation to your employer, a next door neighbor, or your in-laws, shouldn't be an aromatically awkward occasion. It doesn't matter if it's legal; some people just remain uncomfortable, for whatever reason, with marijuana smoking. At that point, the choices are trying to change other people's values and preferences to your own - an undertaking equally as notable for its futility as for its vanity - or you can just exercise a little discretion.
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.
The irony though is that many of us today who are conscientious about the virtue of aromatic discretion had our first experience with such matters under quite different circumstances. In my youth, and my hometown, pot was certainly illegal, though, through the perhaps somewhat rose colored glasses of recollection, there seems to have been a bit more of an innocence about it than there is today. Still, it wasn't on.
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.
Alas, despite my best efforts, I digress. Well, there we are, the three of us, having only just recently imbibed from Dave's perpetual stash, splayed in our teenage languish over the plastic furniture. Then, horror of horrors, the distinctive sound of keys prodding at the front door lock shocked us out of our reveries. Well, all but Dave, in a state of infinite reverie, I expect. Even I though, taken off guard, was rather dazed and confused. Good old Kimmy, though, was her usual rockstar in action. Like a coiled cat she sprung from the couch and dashed the length of the living room, like some kind of crazy wizard, her arms flayed about with mystical speed, throwing open all the living room windows. She then flew like the wind back across the room, where, in a death-defying flourish, in one fell sweep, she scooped up Dave's various weed paraphernalia off the coffee table, proceeding to stick it inside his jacket.
Now, I'm not sure about this part, but I seem to recall that she then darted to the other end of the room and proceeded to exhale great gusts of blown air across the living room, sweeping the lingering weed odor out the gaping windows. Well, believe it or not, by the time the parents had made their way to the living room the three of us were standing in a row, with slightly improbable grins, something like the service staff of a mansion waiting to greet the new lady of the house upon her arrival.
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.
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