Proving truth is as strange as fiction, one night during my sophomore year of college, I passed the gazebo where kids always go to smoke pot and who-knows-what-else. Some people I'm sure I didn't know stopped me to chat and asked me if I wanted to join. I said no. They all repeatedly tried to insist (for what reason, I have no idea). I still declined. As I walked away, they, in complete seriousness, like it actually was an insult, accused me of thinking I was "too good to do drugs." Were they so high they actually thought they were the Aggressive Drug Dealers in a bad [=PSA=]?

There are a few known dealers at this troper's school, but all of them avert this trope by being very jovial and likable, they also don't like to pressure people who aren't interested. One this that you do ''not'' want to though, is owe one of them money.

One night when I was in Quebec City, waiting for the bus to take me home after a night of partying during the Saint-Jean Baptiste festival (Quebec's national/provincial holiday), a guy came up to me and offered to sell me some drugs. When I refused, he kept pestering me despite my refusal, until the bus finally came and I was able to get away. I suspect the guy was guilting of sampling his own product when he tried to sell it to me.

I was dating this one guy, and we were hanging out with his friends. They pulled out a joint to pass around; I declined, and my then-boyfriend--two years sober after a nasty drug addiction--wasn't interested either. "It's just weed," they said, "And plus you started a new job, you should celebrate!" He still didn't want to, and this went on for like ten minutes before they finally let it go. Wow, with friends like these...

I probably seemed this way when trying to get my friend(who has both ADHD ''and'' Asperger's) to smoke a joint, but my intentions were actually good(if not misguided, depending on how you feel about pot). He was just so damn keyed-up all the time because his mom(who I'm beginning to suspect might have some form of schizophrenia) took him off his medication. He finally relented when I was kind enough to share two tiny blunt roaches(the only weed I would get for the rest of the year, in fact) with him out of a soda can in his abusive father's garage. Within seconds of that altruistic act, I realized my mistake. The dumb son of a bitch, who had ''just'' watched me get a good hit off of the can and listened to me carefully instruct him on how to hold it, took a giant salad-shooter hit and then threw his arms up in the air like he was about to shout "Praise Jesus for creating cannabis!" As a result, my hard-earned, hard to come by pittance of weed went all over the garage and was lost forever. Needless to say, my friend had a few bruises to explain to his mom afterwards.