The Time I Ate a Hash Cookie and Missed the Olympics
When the 2010 Olympic Winter Games came to Vancouver, there was lots of excitement about getting over to experience it, since — much like the turn of the millennium or 2017’s total solar eclipse — you might never get a chance to experience something like this again in your lifetime.
I was 26 years old at the time of Vancouver 2010. My sister was 24 and lived with a roommate smack dab in the centre of downtown Vancouver.
My fiance, best friend and I caught the ferry from Vancouver Island on a Friday night amid the two weeks’ festivities, taking advantage of the 90-minute crossing to covertly suck back a concession-bought Pepsi spiked with Bacardi Dark.
By the time my sister and her boyfriend had picked us up and brought us back to the apartment, we were determined to keep the party going before venturing out into the celebrations.
After a short time, my sister’s boyfriend brought out a plate of homemade peanut butter cookies he explained were infused with hash.
“How much hash?” we queried.
“Oh, like a decent amount. I don’t know.”
“But how strong?” we pressed.
“Like decently strong, I guess.”
