Lunch breaks hit different when you’re an LA gig worker who still clocks into a day job. Warehouse in the morning and creative at night—my whole life runs on a double-shift timeline, and sometimes I forget which version of myself I’m supposed to be feeding.
So when my break finally rolled around, I walked out to my car, hoping I’d left something in the console that passed as “lunch.” Instead, I found a bag of Dulze edibles tucked under my camera battery and a pack of rolling papers—the two things I somehow always have, even on days I forget to eat.
Dulze isn’t casual candy. It’s solventless, chile-dusted, Mexican-candy-adjacent fire, like someone elevated your childhood bodega store snacks and dropped them in a boutique LA dispensary.
And without thinking—without planning—I ate the whole 100mg bag.
Not as a stunt.
Not as an escape.
Just a gig worker in motion, moving too fast to care about the fine print of my actions.
Then I headed back inside, planning to keep my head down and push through the day. And that’s when the unthinkable happened.
My boss approached me the moment I stepped onto the warehouse floor—which was ironic, because he normally hides in his office like it’s a bunker. But this time, my nervous system registered “authority figure approaching” and hit the panic button.
The edible, apparently, took that as its cue.
Instead of melting into the concrete like any meme promises, I experienced the opposite: extrovert mode activated.
My social battery—normally reserved for interviews, brand pitches, and rolling-art conversations—suddenly surged past 100%.
And I started talking.
Not rambling.
Talking.
Clear. Warm. Weirdly optimistic.
Like someone quietly handed me a mic and said, “Go ahead and give your warehouse TED Talk.”
I was suggesting workflow improvements.
Dropping culture notes.
Unloading forklift philosophy like I’d been waiting for this moment my whole life.
Some people microdose at work.
Apparently, I macro-dosed my way into middle-management energy.
The wildest part?
He listened. He loved it. He nodded.
He stared at me like I’d suddenly become the Oracle of Operations.
Meanwhile, I floated through the warehouse with a level of calm clarity no HR training could ever produce—blissed-out, functional, and accidentally giving the best pep talk of the quarter.
By my next shift, I was pulled aside.
Not for being high.
Not for talking too much.
But for showing “initiative.”
Suddenly, I was being invited to join the safety committee—the unofficial inner circle of the warehouse. The ones with the branded clipboards. The ones who know where the real emergency binder lives.
I walked in that day as the quiet girl who keeps to herself.
I walked out fully on management’s promotional radar.
I’m not saying the edibles granted me leadership potential… but I’m also not not saying that.
All I know is I came back from lunch far more cheerful, far more talkative, and apparently far more “upper-management coded” than I’ve ever been while fully sober. If that’s not workplace irony, I don’t know what is.
Sometimes the edible hits at the wrong moment.
Sometimes it has perfect timing and lands you on track to upper management.
This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.
<p>The post I Slammed a Bag of Edibles on My Lunch Break…and Somehow Ended up on the Leadership Team first appeared on High Times.</p>
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