I tell this story on stage. If you’ve seen my act in the past year, you would know that I’ve been meticulously trying to perfect this one single story. It’s still not finished. At least not in its stage form. It does however have all the nuts and bolts to be put into print. So, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you one of my favourite stories about my wife Lindsay. The Pot Cookie Story.
I love stand-up comedy. Sometimes, I get paid in money. Which is AWESOME. But sometimes, like what happened to me over a year ago in Toronto, I got paid… in pot cookies.
I’ll let you take a step back from your computer to cheer and salivate.
Okay, now, I don’t partake in pot. But I don’t say no to cookies! SO I TOOK THEM HOME! Yay! I saw myself as some kind of marijuana angel who came down from heaven baring gifts. One of my friends was in for a treat.
Or, at least, that’s how I thought this was going to play out.
It was a Wednesday night. I get a text message from my wife. It’s important to mention here that I originally met my wife at Bible College. She’s a real goodie-goodie. Never drank, never did drugs, never nothin’. The majority of her life has been devoted to singing and playing.
She’s basically a smurf.
So I get a text message from my good, wholesome, smurf-esque wife.
“Clifford. I think I want to try a pot cookie.”
Now. I want to encourage but not enable. So I say, “Okay. Try a piece.”
She texts me back: “I HAD THE WHOLE COOKIE!!!”
You got to understand. Lindsay is five-foot-two, a hundred pounds. A pot cookie to me is a pot roast to her. She’s not getting high. She’s getting HIGH. I’m talking Chris-Hadfield-guitar-in-space HIIIIGH.
She calls me up, panicking, paranoid out of her loving mind, “Clifford! You got to come help me! NETFLIX IS TRYING TO EAT ME!”
I fluff it off. In my head, I’m just thinking she’s not handling her high very well. So I encourage her to just wait for me under the covers and drink peanut butter with a straw.
I’ll be home soon.
So I’m out on the town. Hot night in Hamilton. Two shows back to back. I performed for a ragtag gang of circus folk over at Homegrown then for the unemployed drunk people at Work. Yes, Hamilton has a special way of infusing irony into every turn.
I’m on stage, performing my jokes like a good little comedian when I can feel my phone buzzing in my shirt pocket. Lindsay’s blasting off! One text after another! “CLIFF! AH! CLIFF! NETFLIX! GRRR!!!” Text after text after text. My nipple’s looking like a strobe light. Made me want to dance.
I have never done this in my life, I have NEVER backed down from a show, but tonight, being a good husband trumped being a good comedian. I turned to the crowd and said, “I’m sorry! I have to leave. My wife is in a serious… pot cookie emergency? I got go!”
And I flee the stage!
If I’m being honest here, I kind of felt like a hero. Galavanting off to rescue the princess and save the day. I call Lindsay to put her mind at ease, “Don’t worry babe! I’m coming home. Clifford’s going to take care of you.”
At this moment, my wife, she comforts me. In a calm and serene voice.
“Clifford. Everything is okay… I’m in the ambulance now.”
WHAT!!!!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE IN THE AMBULANCE!!!??!?!! WHAT!??????
Got so high.
She called 911 emergency.
And said, “You have to come get me! I had a high cookie!”
A high cookie! That’s so adorable! Imagine being on the other line and you heard that. “A high cookie? Wow, we better go get this stoned 5 year-old.”
This is ridiculous.
I arrive at St. Joes hospital. We live less than a minute from St. Joes so I park my car and walk in through the emergency doors.
Lindsay is nowhere in sight. This is terrifying. Lindsay is 30 years-old, high out of her mind, lost in Hamilton, Ontario, wearing her My Little Pony pajamas.
This is this worst thing she’s ever done.
This is her Breaking Bad.
She calls me again on the phone. “Clifford! Where are you? I’m at Barton Hospital!”
Barton Hospital? Oh, she means the General? Why on earth is she at the General? It’s on the other side of town. Why on EARTH is she at the General?
Well, here’s the story.
Lindsay’s in the ambulance, surrounded by paramedics, and they say to each other, “Well we’re right here. Let’s just take her to Joes.”
Then Lindsay, in a state entirely controlled by her mushy marijuana brain says, “Oh my god… Who the HELL is Joe? DON’T TAKE ME TO JOES!”
So they don’t take her to Joes, they take her Barton!
What is going on? What paramedic is suddenly treating ambulance calls like an Uber? “Ok where do you want to go? No problem! Make sure to give me a good rating when you’re done!”
It’s almost one in the morning. I’m running around Hamilton looking for my wife in the wildest goose chase of my life.
I walk into the General and I’ve never felt more judged in my life. The nurses are looking at me like, “Oh. He FOR SURE gave her the drugs.”
And I get it. Because A) I look like a drug dealer. But more importantly, B) I look like a baker.
I find Lindsay. There she is, balled up in the corner, doughy-eyed, I don’t know where she got the crayons.
I grab her hand and let her know that I’m here and everything is going to be okay.
Maybe this was preparing us for parenthood in a roundabout way.
I felt like the dad who came to bail his kid out of jail.
She’s ready to go. I turn to the doctor and the nurses and ask if it’s okay for us to go. I’m still fuzzy on the pot laws in this country and don’t know if she’s in trouble or anything.
The doctor, a man, who went to school to be a doctor, gave me this sound advice.
“Listen son. Get her water. And GET HER MCDONALDS!”
ARE YOU SERIOUS!?? CAN I GET A PRESCRIPTION FOR THAT????? What is that a nugget in the morning and a flurry before bed?
I’m loving it.
This is a story I’ve been telling on stage for over a year. I’m going to be retiring it soon as it goes onto my album and gets filmed for TV. There’s a lot of charm and real life to this story that made me love and appreciate my wife even more. Something I can’t really put into words but there was this feeling then and this feel ever since then that her stories are my stories and my stories are her stories. We’ve come to a place of unity in our marriage where we’re fused as one.
I like this place and could stay here for a very, very long time.