My Beef With San Francisco’s Cannabis Dispensaries

Every stoner and their cousin wants to work in the cannabis dispensary, but few get off the couch and do it. Yet the industry is surprisingly hard to break into. Gatekeeping is real. You will need reliable (read: verifiable) references if not a respected connection. Good customer service is a clearly written expectation, part of your job description. What takes some getting used to are the unwritten rules. When you witness wrongs like internal theft, DCC violations, and patients ignored, will you be able to turn the other cheek? Does being an excellent caregiver go far enough to protect your job?

My multi-year fling with one of the West Coast’s most profitable industries began in early 2018, in Portland, Oregon. Oregon had recently legalized recreational cannabis sales. Until then, legal cannabis could only be obtained with a medical card. It had been that way for nearly twenty years. In that time, Oregonian dispensaries created a wholesome approach to buying weed and ascribed a therapeutic value to selling it. I learned from people that worked by medicinal-only guidelines for years. They never called themselves “budtenders.”

I learned I was far from the only one treating my own ills with weed. Most people come in for the same, with or without medical recommendation. Assuming as much enables you to lead with empathy and save the discerning for after you’ve listened. Also, medical cardholders did not stop existing. As a provider, you’re responsible for understanding the effects of and difference between combustion and ingestion, topical versus transdermal, Co2 oil and live resin.

Patients deserve real empathy from dispensary workers who know what RSO is and who to recommend it to. Providers should know why THC treats nerve pain and CBD treats tissue damage, how to help cancer patients find strains that stimulate hunger (Purple Kush, Northern Lights), that Δ9 is a scam. I took personal interest in how certain weed strains affect mental illness symptoms, positively and adversely. For instance, what lifts depression, like Blue Dream or Tangie, may not relieve anxiety like SFV OG or GSC.

After five years in Portland, I moved back to San Francisco for grad school. My plan was to find work at a dispensary in the city. It took me less than two weeks to get snatched up. I anticipated differences in weed industry SOP from Oregon to California, major ones even. However, by January 2019, recreational sales had completely taken over.

I worked at one of those big, fancy Apple Store-looking clubs, the kind that reminds you people are in jail for doing this job. They called us “member consultants,” not budtenders or providers. And I thought I’d finally escaped retail. Wrong. There I was, pressured into converting lookers into buyers, meeting and beating sales goals, tracking customer loyalty points. Meanwhile, med card holders were getting passed over for big-spender tourists. “Dispensary” always felt like a funny name for pot shops, like Pez dispensers for weed, but this place felt like little more than a candy shop.

Ask any bartender, server, or sales associate you know. In any small business, the tagline’s always the same: “The job’s alright, but the owner…” 

I’ve worked at four San Francisco dispensary locations, the most recent of which laid me off along with 30% of the staff. The manager giving me the news told me the store simply wasn’t making enough money. Nothing personal. Maybe that shop would’ve done better had the owner stopped bursting in at night, wide-eyed and twitchy, desperate to impress the girls on each arm by scooping up as much product as he can and walking out with it. I wonder what tricks the managers covering for him did to keep inventory numbers looking normal. Meanwhile, I drained my savings and went on EBT before talking my way into bartending at a spot where heavy drug use and sexual assault happened right under the owner’s nose. But hey, it’s nothing personal.

The magic of selling legal weed in Portland vs. here partly comes down to how Oregon dictates tracking, called seed-to-sale. Wholesale purchase, actual pounds of primo bud, allowed us to sell from massive jars we kept on shelves behind the counter, apothecary style. I could hold out a big-ass jug of weed for your olfactory delight, before you made your decision. As long as the shop’s numbers even out after close, Oregon takes their cut and you get to keep operating—and that’s dealing weed the Beaver State way. 

In California, that magic is stripped from the dispensary experience. The Department of Cannabis Control (DCC) dictates that weed must arrive and be sold pre-measured, pre-packaged—no sniffs allowed. Sometimes you can’t even see the bud you’re considering! Now and then, some growers throw in a gram or two in a separate jar specially marked ‘SAMPLE.’ One sample, for a whole shipment cycle, which varies from weeks to months to never again. You ever leave a nug out in open air? Even the best bud will dehydrate and crumble. It isn’t pretty.

The difference in quality comes down to the cure (“It’s Friday, I’m in love!”). You’ve gotta cure it well, a months-long process if done right. Weed needs to lose moisture gradually in a humidity-controlled, light-sensitive environment before it can be smoked. In Oregon, where they recently grew more weed than they knew what to do with, a proper cure is approximately three months.

Unfortunately, more and more farmers, especially in California, are turning to the heat-and-treat method to churn out cannabis faster. Flash-cured weed is a deceiver with the look and scent of its authentic counterpart. What’s worse, a lot of top-shelvers are guilty of using this method to churn out pretty yet overpriced weed. But give it a couple weeks and that $65 eighth will wither, turning into hay even horses wouldn’t eat.

Which brings me to my next point!

Every time I view a San Francisco dispensary menu, I ask myself, What are we doing? A top-shelf eighth at my old shop in Portland cost $42 with tax. Then again, showing the buyer a massive jarful of pot effectively shows them the overall quality of the whole batch. That’s not possible the way California sells weed. You have to take the product’s word for it, whether you’re a provider or a customer.

Aside from being extremely wasteful, California’s individual package policy simply creates jobs for advertisers. It’s usually a graphic design student with a marketing degree behind the jars that draw your attention. Beyond design is the verbiage. “Indoor” vs. “outdoor,” “artificial sun” vs. “full-spectrum,” “hydro” vs. “biodynamic”—all different buzzwords for what essentially comes down to how the plant was grown and cured. Sometimes (though not always) that jar boasting “premium indoor flower” is the same heated and streeted weed you just read about.

Hate me all you like, but it’s true—Oregon simply has better weed. They cure it better, distribute it more efficiently, and regulate it around cultivation vs. the other way around. In California, weed worthy of the top shelf (Cannabiotix) hides in plain sight among lesser-quality competitors (Pure Beauty). It’s just as expensive, which is why I rarely buy it, even if it delivers exactly what you’re paying (still too much) for.

This remains to be seen. Currently, improvements to the system are between California law and shop owners. God help us. In the meantime, make small but meaningful changes to your legal weed experience in the Golden State. Customers, practice good dispensary etiquette and there’s a good chance you’ll get exactly what you need. Providers, hold yourselves to a standard of accountability even your managers find exemplary and you’ll defend your worth without even trying. Both customers and providers should expect and advocate for fair and friendly treatment from one another. Anything less means it’s time to find another club.