The suits in Connecticut are at it again. They’ve rolled up their crisp, policy-stained sleeves to tackle the real crisis of the day: how little they’re paying the folks propping up their shiny, overregulated cannabis cash cow. A public hearing, they call it, because nothing says “we care” like a bunch of out-of-touch decision-makers sitting in a room pretending to listen to people whose jobs they couldn’t describe without a teleprompter.
The weed industry—once the realm of rebels and dreamers—is now just another factory floor. Only instead of steel beams or microchips, it’s premium buds flying off the shelves at prices that could bankrupt a trust fund. Yet the ones growing it, trimming it, packaging it, and selling it? They’re living on ramen and roommate roulette while “green rush” executives are busy customizing their BMWs.
Connecticut loves to pat itself on the back for being “progressive,” but when it comes to fair wages for the people actually making the magic happen, suddenly the tune changes. Working for the dream doesn’t pay the bills. Let me repeat that for the ones in the back: working for the dream DOES NOT pay the damn bills. The hours are long, the pay is insulting, and the only benefits seem to be chronic back pain and the thrill of explaining to your landlord why rent is late again. But hey, at least you get to say you’re “part of the movement,” right?
Here’s the rub: these hearings are just another performance. They’ll nod, scribble notes, and make vague promises about “looking into it.” Then, weeks later, they’ll quietly shove the whole thing in a drawer labeled “Not Our Problem” because god forbid they cut into the corporate profit margins. After all, a system built on exploitation isn’t broken; it’s working exactly as intended.
Welcome to Connecticut: where the green isn’t just the weed, it’s also the money you’ll never see.
Keep it weird,
