by Amy Wilding-Fox
Never did I imagine I would be flying to sunny Las Vegas for the better part of a week to cover one of marijuana’s largest conventions: the MJBizCon. A couple weeks ago, I was asked to score press passes, and I managed to get us some of the coveted passes allowing us free access into the convention.
Made up of two stories, each with ten miles of maze filled with over 1,400 different vendors (I know this for a fact, thanks to my Fitbit), this convention was massive. There was everything from major brands like Cookies to smaller mom-and-pop brands like Mary Jane Smokewear. Big Pharma was represented alongside entrepreneur scientists, like the twenty-year-old I met extracting his own natural food-grade terpenes.
Little did I know as I walked off the plane, the MJBizCon would be the least eventful moments of my trip.
On November 15, 2022, we landed in Vegas, and this old Michigander and cannabis connoisseur wanted to find something to smoke. The venue was already open to the press, so my boss wanted to grab food and swing by the Las Vegas Convention Center to check the layout first. After grabbing our baby poop green car (I had specifically chosen so as to not lose it in the sea of cars at the convention), off we rode into the city, full of high expectations for a great networking experience.
Upon checking two top things off my boss’s list, we finally headed to a dispensary called MedMen. I chose it for no other reason than the catchy name. Upon entering, we both noticed Tyson 2.0 on the doors and windows. For our regular reader, you might recall we have already done a two-part interview with the champ himself.
I went in and was treated so well by the staff and management. Kylie, my budtender, was not only very cool, but she also actually knew her meds. She understood terpenes and which were better suited to my needs.
Kim, the head manager of the store, made us feel at home. She explained to us the more stringent laws around cannabis in Nevada, which is why they cannot offer publications such as The Marijuana Report in any Nevada dispensaries. Laws prohibit any insinuation of smoking or using the products they sell. For example, Mike Tyson could not even have smoke present in his promotional photos. She did, however, invite us both back to meet with Tyson, who just happened to be visiting the store the next night.
Finally, with my meds in hand, I was ready to find our hotel and smoke.
Upon entering the Rio, it was just as I had imagined. Flashing lights of slots, the smell of stale cigarette smoke, and a line winding with only two or three attendants checking people in and out. My long-awaited joint was going to be even longer.
We finally got to our rooms and I plopped down to roll my doobies. “I’m in Vegas,” I thought. “It’s recreational here. I can find me a chill little spot to myself outside and finally relax in the desert air for a few.”
I did just that, thinking this is Zen. Then, suddenly, just as I was about to enter my happy place, I was rudely interrupted by a deep male voice, “Ma’am in the great state of Nevada recreational use may be legal but public consumption is not! You must leave this property to smoke, or you’ll be thrown out of the hotel!”
He pointed to the sidewalk telling me that I could take my chances on the public sidewalk, but a cop could still arrest me.
Off I went again, feeling like a secondhand citizen as I walked away from the cigarette smokers, with my head down. I reached my destination, the public sidewalk.
Once there, I realized it doubled as a bed for a gentleman who goes by “Brother.” Asking me for a cigarette, I explained how I was only out there because I didn’t smoke cigarettes, but joints instead.
I tore off an end of one of my pre-rolls, lit it and handed it to him to smoke. He was so pleased he began rapping the Dayton Family to me because he had learned I was from Flint, Michigan. A few minutes later, we were joined by Rhonda, another sweet soul who called the street her home. I did the same for her, giving her another end of a joint to toke on.
I said so long to head back. The next thing I heard was Brother singing “Time After Time,” a Cyndi Lauper song of the 1980s. He serenaded me all the way back to the elevators. I reached my room to check out my view, only to find an even larger homeless camp below.
The next morning, both Ben and I were up and ready to take the convention by storm. We both made it through our first halves, speaking to dozens if not a hundred plus people each, including one of Berner’s local partners, and scored an invite to the Jack Herer Cup and a few minutes with Berner himself!
Both hoarse, we headed out to meet Mike Tyson. The manager at MedMen did not let us down. We waited an hour or so, and finally were able to meet with Tyson. He and Ben spoke for a few minutes, and then we were off to find dinner at a local Filipino restaurant called Max’s that was recommended by hotel staff.
The food was delicious. Ben was able to eat his beloved comfort food, lumpias. Next up, Berner!
Ben opened his car door to find some small pieces of glass in his seat. Worried he had somehow broken his equipment, he rifled through the backpack that he’d left in the car, and all was intact.
“Weird,” he said.
We hopped into the car only to feel a cold wind coming from the back seat.
Our easily spotted baby poop green car caught someone else’s eye, it seems, and we were victims of a smash-and-grab. Well, I should say I was. They smashed the window to grab my bag full of all the work I had done that day and some Christmas presents I had grabbed for my mom while at the MJBizCon. Thankfully, Ben’s laptop and camera were left.
Gone were all of my leads, the presents and, maybe even worse, my Berner opportunity. That evening was spent talking to LVPD, making police reports, trading in the car for another and dealing with the total loss of all my five miles of hard work along with the gifts.
Feeling a bit defeated, I did not even hit the sidewalk to smoke my doobie. Bypassing the casino, I went straight to my room.
The third day began with no hot water for a shower. Switching rooms, I knew my day was just getting started, and what a
way to do so. Getting to the convention early, I double-timed the first half retracing my first five miles, then began my second half.
Our second day at the convention was much like the first, meeting countless cool people in the cannabis industry, from multimillion-dollar corporations to small fish, like us. Cannabis commercialization was everywhere. Anything about the plant that could be exploited was. From businesses that believe they have created the next best gadgets, like bladeless electric trimmers, to industrial-sized grinders for proper disposal of leftover plant material and everything in between. Clothing stores, lights, fertilizers, accountants, artists, unions and just about anything one can imagine were represented, all trying to grab their little slice of the cannabis pie.
Working so hard, walking over ten miles in the convention, food and sleep were all that I could think of. Ben, craving Jack in the Box, ran through the drive-thru, and I finally tried their infamous tacos, but not before realizing I had now lost our business bank card when trying to pay for it! Could my luck in Vegas get any worse?
Our last morning, Friday the 18th, was for decompression. I rolled the last of my buds from the dispensary and headed to my smoke spot. Brother was still sleeping, so I tried to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake him. I finally stopped at the casino, only to lose a hundred dollars.
Upon checkout, we spent our last couple hours in Vegas enjoying the sunshine while writing our pieces at a local Starbucks. While some of the trip involved series of unfortunate events, we came, we saw, we conquered the MJBiz. Just two people representing a little independent marijuana magazine from the Midwest.
Sipping his coffee, Ben looked up from his typing. “Hey, Amy? Can life get any cooler than this? Writing our stories about things we love, not having to answer to suits all day long?”
“Yes. Thank you, Ben. This really is my dream come true.”
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