Do you know if you smoke marijuana you may piss your pants?
Café, Café, Café, and yes! Yet another Café! The strong skunky smell of marijuana alerts one to the fact that cafés in this area of Amsterdam do indeed sell coffees but the menu of interest is the one that itemizes the various strains of marijuana on offer, their putative effects, and their cost. The more expensive variety: your mind will be blown to the ends of the universe, banana nirvana, bliss. A less costly grade: a relaxed state – imagine a stone thrown in the pond, ripples moving outwards to quiet meditative peace. Another, same cost, different name, and you’ll achieve a medium state of union with all forms of life animal, vegetable or mineral – mineral as in stone, yes stoned.
As Alfred had not smoked dope in his entire life we asked the vender in the café to recommend a grade suitable for beginners. He recommended one that would accomplish relaxation and appreciation of the wonders of life, or another one where we could have the same state of relaxation plus medium ‘stoned’. We chose ‘stoned’. Only 7,50 euro for a joint.
Alfred achieved a medium-high state of paranoia, convinced that people were looking at him, particularly at the crotch area of his jeans as he was 85% sure he had pissed his pants but was afraid to test his hypothesis fearing his hand on his crotch would attract yet more negative attention.
The other customers were not looking at Alfred at all. The young zombie men had smoked the extremely high concentration mind-bending dope which results in blank staring, total unawareness of other forms of life, and comatose postures. The TV screen showed people engaged in some kind of meaningless activity with world news text streaming underneath. The sound track played loud rap music. I hate loud rap music. The effect of my three or four deep tokes was a spontaneous public display of my usual loud, fast talking, although perhaps louder and faster than usual and punctuated with gales of laughter as I appreciated my own peerless wit and the brilliant ideas that flowed out faster than I could understand them. Alfred could not appreciate nor even comprehend  my amazing insights but now and then he gave off thinking about his pissed pants and silently admired  my fluent  babble and unrestrained  mirth, simultaneously thinking I had lost the plot, so also fretting about the problem of how he would get me safely back to the hotel given that, in his view, I had gone  out of my mind, perhaps forever.

Out on the street Alfred’s paranoia intensified when he sighted sidewalks puddled with melted snow, each puddle further evidence of his pissing himself. My drug induced muscle relaxation, loss of coordination and loss of sensory awareness and continuing unabated laughter led to a momentary loss of sphincter control and resulted in me actually pissing in my pants unlike Alfred who later found out his fears had been unfounded and his pants unsullied.
Marijuana continues to be legally bought and sold in Amsterdam at licensed outlets. Does the use of pot lead to the user desiring stronger drugs and ultimately to addiction? All I can tell you is after changing my pants I ate a bag of candies. If sugar is a drug, call me an addict, and put me in rehab.

In Amsterdam