Unknowingly Drugged

My really cool co-worker and I decided to get lunch from one of the food trucks parked outside of our office this past week. There are different ones on different days, and we have the best of the best of them to choose from, according to NYC foodies.

We decided to get sandwiches from a Korean truck. It was cold out and we were busy, so we brought them to our respective desks. About, oh, 15 minutes later, my c.w. g-chatted that she initially thought the sandwich was too big and she’d save half, but then she proceeded to eat the whole thing. At this point, I’d had about 1/4 of mine and started to feel funny, like Did I just smoke some green? funny. I don’t like that stuff; it doesn’t make me happy or calm or cool—just  paranoid and anti-social and weird.

Then I developed a theory: Chefs put weed in food to make it addictive and keep customers coming back. It’s not necessarily the actual food that you love; it’s the high. For me, this won’t work. But I am one of few who has a negative reaction to the substance, and therefore for most people, this is an ingenious marketing idea.

Just a theory.

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