As I approached the woman, I was again struggling to remember what to do with my hands and decided that reaching for my wallet was too risky - she would know! - so instead I asked if she could point me to a store where I could get some water. Because Great Barrington is like super cute and they have a place called Flying Church Coffee that sells grilled cheeses and have you ever had like a really good grilled cheese? I mean like really good?Īnyhoo, #4 was a place called Calyx, which is on the main cutesy shopping stretch, conveniently next to a toy store, and kinda blends in with all the other shops except for the security guard out front checking IDs.
#Fear and loathing zans autopurge driver
I don’t really remember much from that, and soon my driver parked the car downtown as it was decided I should just walk to the next three alone.
They sold joints that were actually called joints, so I got another one of those, did the quick stop thing again, then hit Rebelle, the third recreational dispensary to open. (Note the antique radios designed by Philo Farnsworth, the famed inventor who is a great-uncle of the owners.) Erin Clark/Globe Staff Is this what a dispensary would look like if designed by the director Wes Anderson? Fruity, refined fun at Farnsworth. Inside, a budtender walked me through a dizzying array of options - edibles, tinctures, topicals, vapes, concentrates - as I nodded along while trying really hard to remember what I normally did with my hands. The Pass, the second retail store to open, is technically just over the line in Sheffield, and from the outside has the barn-like aesthetic of a place that sells snowboards in actual Vermont. But looking around Great Barrington on the ride across town to the second dispensary, at the quaint little shops and the rolling hills in the peak of fall, I realized I quite like the Berkshires.
This is a good time to apologize to the people of the Berkshires for that incident two years ago where they screamed at me for misusing the term “Berkshires” in the newspaper, and I screamed at them that no one cares. Soon enough I was back in the car, and my driver - who doesn’t want his name anywhere near this fiasco - took me to a secluded spot to hop out, take two quick puffs, and make him regret this entire plan. After we shared a nice quiet cringe, he suggested a “pre-roll” - the budtender’s word for “joint” - and prattled on for a few moments about the strand’s progeny like a stanky sommelier, as I wished for the old days of simply having to feign interest in the unopened Luke Skywalker figurine.
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