Someone Sent Me Random Drugs In The Mail


Right before spring break last year, I’d ordered some bootleg Ray Bans, as one does. I was not risking my real ones on some hepatitis-riddled beach. Anyway, the delivery time on these bad boys was 7-40 days, so I wasn’t holding my breath waiting for them. The website I got them from was based out of China, so my expectations were already low.

A few weeks after I ordered them, I got an email from the main post office of my university. A post office attendant named Tina, informed me that I had a “mystery package” waiting for me. Except not. It was addressed to someone that had my first name, but no last name or no mail stop information was listed. I thought this was odd since I always ordered things straight to my sorority house, and never experienced any problems. But I thought, whatever, this isn’t the first time China had fucked something up. Then Tina asked if I was expecting anything from India that was a health product. This is the point where I was a little sketched out. I told her the truth, that I was waiting for some ghetto shades to come in, and it didn’t really sound like the same thing to me. Tina sent the package to me anyway, saying I can just send it back if it wasn’t mine.

It wasn’t mine.

The next morning, my sunglasses arrived, but, since I’m nosy, and a little bit dangerous, I opened my mystery package. Inside was a recent edition of the Hindustan Times wrapped around a plastic baggie full of drugs. Pills on pills of…something. There was no letter, no prescription, and no information whatsoever. I Googled the markings on the pills to learn that they were a knockoff version of Xanax made in Pakistan.

For a brief moment, I thought what my life as a drug lord could be like. I’d have expensive cars. Men in white suits with pointy collars, gold chains, and too much chest hair on each arm. I’d have a whole entourage of muscle at the ready to do my bidding. Math teacher wants to give me a bad grade? Stick one of my goons on her. Some bitch decides to look in the direction of a guy I’ve had a crush on, but never actually talked to? I’d show her who was boss. I’d stop drinking water. Champagne only. And I’d live in a white mansion overlooking some body of water — not sure which one, but I know it’d look tropical AF.

I decided that a career in crime probably wouldn’t bode well for my dreams of marrying a Kennedy, so I opted out. I drove right back down to the post office, said no to drugs. Return to sender.

Some people might be wondering why I didn’t decide to keep them, or try at least one. But I couldn’t get over the potential headline: “Sorority Girl Dies After Taking Miscellaneous Pakistani Drugs, Is Idiot, No One Feels Bad,” and thought better of it. Besides, they were knockoffs anyway. And everyone knows I don’t do knockoffs, unless they’re Ray Bans for spring break.

Email this to a friend


PlattyBlonde is a senior who divides her time responsibly between cheap alcohol, bad boys, and worrying about her hair.

1 Comments You must log in to comment, or create an account
Show Comments

For More Photos and Videos

Latest podcasts

Download Our App

Take TSM with you. Get

New Stories

Load More