“I don’t care that the CBC or Globe and Mail claim cannabis store owners will be raking in a fortune,” Ken had said to his parents. “The media says with so few stores being licensed by the province it’s going to be a near monopoly. Huge profits are guaranteed. But that’s BS. Profits are never guaranteed.”
From his seat on the sofa in his parent’s home, Ken leaned over the coffee table and began gesturing emphatically with his hands. “Why take the chance? We’re successful pharmacists, earning more than enough. Getting into the marijuana trade will reflect badly on our pharmacy, our bread and butter.” He had recently married and he and his bride were desperate for a secure future.
“I have a good feeling about this,” Roy said. “Every expert out there says it’ll be a license to print money. It’s a golden opportunity. I can’t let it pass me by.”
After having toured the block, Della and Roy decided to lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant on Eglinton. Aromas of cilantro, lemongrass and cooked beef wafted through the air.
“People will be lining up to get into our shop,” she said confidently as she ate her chicken bún using chopsticks. “There’s a huge market for legal grass.”
But she still had her own, secret, doubts. She’d be giving up a steady pay cheque to dive into the world of independent retail sales. Nevertheless, how hard could it be? You didn’t need a PhD to use a cash register, keep track of inventory, stock shelves and smile at customers. If all went to plan she would enjoy real financial security in her retirement years.
Roy appeared buoyant when, the following Monday, they signed the lease and handed the landlord a bank draft. Della was more subdued, disengaged, looking into the middle distance, wishing she were somewhere else.
When Roy got back into his car he phoned a relative of his, a man who had experience renovating stores. New walls, flooring and fixtures would be required as soon as possible.
“Next Thursday we’ll start,” said the contractor confidently.
“How long will it take you?”
“At least three weeks.”
Everything was expensive, even if some of the items could be obtained second-hand. It added up to a hundred and fifty dollars a square foot, one hundred and five thousand dollars in total, just for overhauling the store. There were other costs as well, stock, cash register, rent, electricity, etc. This was a fortune to Della. To raise her half she’d remortgaged her condo. She also borrowed money from her estranged husband.
She worried, had frightening dreams, was even tempted to go to church. What have I gotten myself into?
It was a sunny Friday, June 1st. From the south a hot and humid wind blew in from Lake Ontario. A large sign, Preferred Puff Cannabis, with a red maple leaf in one corner and a green marijuana leaf in the other, adorned the new store front. Flyers announcing the new marijuana shop had been distributed in the surrounding neighbourhood. At 10 a.m. from within the dispensary Della and Roy unlocked the entrance door. No one was waiting to come in. Della stepped out onto the pavement and looked around. A woman pushing a bundle buggy walked by, followed closing by her graying, little mongrel dog. Three pigeons examined the sidewalk searching for crumbs. A box truck unloaded lawnmowers destined for the hardware store directly across the street. The odd vehicle sped by.
