THE EXPERIMENT
We cashed in our chips and left modern society to try our hand at becoming hippiebillies.
We cashed in our chips and left modern society to try our hand at becoming hippiebillies.
We worked our boring jobs during the week and slogged our way through college classes in the evenings, looking forward to the weekend rendezvous.
“Yous guys Rocky fans?” Hank said. “YES!” I said with a mouthful of cheesesteak.
A month later I found myself on a private jet headed to Vegas. Trato Diablo Farms had been nominated for Game Changer of the Year at MJBizCon, the world’s largest conference in the marijuana industry.
There was no elevated consciousness here. This was about one thing: Money. At the end of the day, that’s what this was – no matter what these guys claimed: medicine, cannabinoid wellness, alternative health, bologna. It was about stacks.
I thought whatever health problem Cornelius was dealing with was temporary and certainly not serious. Or he would have told me. Right?
It was truly the happiest we’d ever been. I was working in this crazy but interesting new industry and Chelsea was finally home full-time raising the family. We had forged ahead with our new lives and landed at the end of the continent, in beautiful Oregon.
This was no partnership. This was no empire being built. It was a house of cards slapped together by a bunch of greedy egos completely out of their range of experience and aptitude.
Beyond the narrative about healthy cannabinoids and medicine and whatever stories these guys were trying to sell everybody on, at the end of the day the only thing these muldoons were concerned about was how much money they could milk out of this cash cow.