No one at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell would ever advocate illegal activities. Yet, with so many jurisdictions in the United States with decriminalized weed laws, whether due to medical or recreational concerns, there remains relevant the question of how best to remove that distinctive pot odor. It's just good manners.
I mean, if you're having the boss or the neighbors, or even the parents, over for dinner, not everyone is yet comfortable with the smoking of marijuana for any reason, even if it is legal. So, you can waste your time, launching an indoctrination campaign, trying to convert the values and preferences of others to reflect your own values and preferences - an endeavor equally as notable for its futility as for its vanity - or you can just make the effort to not rub your personal practices into the noses of those who'd rather just not know.
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.
Perhaps somewhat ironically, though, many who today exercise just such conscientious aromatic discretion learned our lesson the hard way, under different circumstances. During my all too misspent youth, in my hometown, there was no doubt about that fact that pot was illegal. Maybe I'm prone to look back with rose colored glasses, but there does seem to have been a kind of innocence to it all which has since been lost. Regardless, it was still verboten.
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.
Anyway, so the three of us had recently imbibed and were lounging on the plastic - actually we may have lifted it off. I don't recall. Suddenly we heard keys prodding at the lock of the front door. I was rather dazed and confused, and Dave was inching toward comatose, but old Kimmy was ever the superstar. Like a coiled cat she leapt to her feet and flew across the room where, with arm speed that blurred before our eyes, she tossed open all the windows, before flying back across the room and in a mind numbing flourish scooped up Dave's various weed paraphernalia off the coffee table and stuffed it all inside the jacket he was wearing.
I confess, I'm not entirely sure how certain I can be about this next part, but as I recall it, she then flashed across the room, opposite the open windows, and rapidly exhaled great gusts of air right through the entire living room. Miraculously, it would seem, this had the effect of completely sweeping any lingering smell of pot out the a-gape windows. Amazingly, by the time my parents arrived in the living room, there we were, the three of us, standing in single file, our faces sporting vaguely absurd smiles: perhaps reminiscent of the service staff employed at a mansion attentively awaiting arrival of a new lady of the house.
Make no mistake, my parents were not cool and most certainly would have not been cool about me smoking weed, anywhere, much less in the house. And yet, somehow, nothing came of it. It was a more innocent time; is it possible they just didn't know the smell of weed? One way or another the occasion passed without incident. The only real perturbation seemed to be the prospect of us scuzzy loafers sprawling our disheveled selves over their plastic covered furniture. So, I can't say with any certainty if they just didn't recognize the weed odor or if, in fact, Kimmy superstar girlfriend of all time, did indeed save the day with her magical powers and somehow get rid of the weed smell.
The bottom line for you, though, is that unless you have the extraordinary good fortune of knowing Kimmy (and if you do, please let me know, I'd like to get in touch with her again), you'll be needing more conventional weed smell abatement strategies. Fortunately for you, we're here on the job at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell, providing the gold standard of aromatic discretion.
I mean, if you're having the boss or the neighbors, or even the parents, over for dinner, not everyone is yet comfortable with the smoking of marijuana for any reason, even if it is legal. So, you can waste your time, launching an indoctrination campaign, trying to convert the values and preferences of others to reflect your own values and preferences - an endeavor equally as notable for its futility as for its vanity - or you can just make the effort to not rub your personal practices into the noses of those who'd rather just not know.
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.
Perhaps somewhat ironically, though, many who today exercise just such conscientious aromatic discretion learned our lesson the hard way, under different circumstances. During my all too misspent youth, in my hometown, there was no doubt about that fact that pot was illegal. Maybe I'm prone to look back with rose colored glasses, but there does seem to have been a kind of innocence to it all which has since been lost. Regardless, it was still verboten.
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.
Anyway, so the three of us had recently imbibed and were lounging on the plastic - actually we may have lifted it off. I don't recall. Suddenly we heard keys prodding at the lock of the front door. I was rather dazed and confused, and Dave was inching toward comatose, but old Kimmy was ever the superstar. Like a coiled cat she leapt to her feet and flew across the room where, with arm speed that blurred before our eyes, she tossed open all the windows, before flying back across the room and in a mind numbing flourish scooped up Dave's various weed paraphernalia off the coffee table and stuffed it all inside the jacket he was wearing.
I confess, I'm not entirely sure how certain I can be about this next part, but as I recall it, she then flashed across the room, opposite the open windows, and rapidly exhaled great gusts of air right through the entire living room. Miraculously, it would seem, this had the effect of completely sweeping any lingering smell of pot out the a-gape windows. Amazingly, by the time my parents arrived in the living room, there we were, the three of us, standing in single file, our faces sporting vaguely absurd smiles: perhaps reminiscent of the service staff employed at a mansion attentively awaiting arrival of a new lady of the house.
Make no mistake, my parents were not cool and most certainly would have not been cool about me smoking weed, anywhere, much less in the house. And yet, somehow, nothing came of it. It was a more innocent time; is it possible they just didn't know the smell of weed? One way or another the occasion passed without incident. The only real perturbation seemed to be the prospect of us scuzzy loafers sprawling our disheveled selves over their plastic covered furniture. So, I can't say with any certainty if they just didn't recognize the weed odor or if, in fact, Kimmy superstar girlfriend of all time, did indeed save the day with her magical powers and somehow get rid of the weed smell.
The bottom line for you, though, is that unless you have the extraordinary good fortune of knowing Kimmy (and if you do, please let me know, I'd like to get in touch with her again), you'll be needing more conventional weed smell abatement strategies. Fortunately for you, we're here on the job at How to Get Rid of Weed Smell, providing the gold standard of aromatic discretion.
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