Carrie and the Campaign Pot House

carrie and the campaign pot house

I’ve decided to spend the next few days or so reposting blogs from my past because what better way to celebrate a new year (insert sarcasm here) and this one is about what it was like to run for office.

A lot of you know that I was once a city councilor and then I had a failing bid for the Maine State House of Representatives.

I was a horrible politician. I felt intrusive knocking on doors. I was not efficient when listening to people’s stories. I’d stay too long and not get to other doors.

The other party said I was too soft to deal with the mean realities of politics. (Not the other candidate. His party) and so on.

So, in my effort to spread a little enlightenment on what it is to be me, Carrie, when I was a failed politician in a state race I bring you this….

As those of you who read CARRIE AND THE CAMPAIGN PENIS and CARRIE AND THE CAMPAIGN PSYCHO might remember, part of being a candidate for political office involves knocking on doors.

A couple weeks ago, Joe Pat (we gave him a hillbilly name because his dad is a doctor) is driving me around in his old Saab. The first house we go to is a modifed trailer, slightly off this dirt road called Pioneer Farm Way.

I go up to the door. I knock.
A roundish kind of guy opens the door. 
I say who I am.

He’s all, “Hey… Cool. I don’t live here. I’m just Joe’s caretaker…I mean… dude… Caregiver.”

And I’m all, “Cool. Can you give this to him and tell him to call me if he — “

From this back hall comes a froggish voice, “Let her in.”

Caretaker/caregiver guy gets panic look. “Um…”

“Dude,” the phantom voice says, “Let her in.”

This guy who is soooooo tan that he’s like beef jerky rolls his wheelchair into the front part of the trailer. He’s only wearing tiny khaki shorts.

He winks at me and says, “Come on back.”

I do.

I follow him down this long, long hallway.

Everything starts smelling pretty interesting, but I’m not really registering it because there are all these sounds of people scurrying around. It’s like I’m in the Boogie Nights movie or something. There is fake wood paneling everywhere and that smell… That smell that I can’t quite place.

Half-naked guy wheels himself to the head of this big table. There’s a teen sitting there. Caretaker/giver sits down.

Half-naked khaki guy goes, “Sit down. You mind if I smoke?”

“Sure. It’s your house.” I look right in his eyes because he is half-naked and I am repressed and from New Hampshire. He smiles and picks up a cigarette. I realize it is not the regular kind of cigarette. It is pot. I look next to me and there is this gigantic box (like 3 x 3) full of special cigarettes. There’s got to be like 500 in there. Then I look on the other side of him and realize that the ginormous bag of plant matter is not cat nip. It is weed. I have never seen so much weed, not even when I was reporting on drug busts.

Half-naked guy inhales. He inhales a lot. He tells me that he has MS, so it’s legal for him to grow. 

Half-naked guy adds, “I’m on disability and disability doesn’t pay much, you know.”

“I know.”

People scurry in back rooms. Someone giggles.

Half-naked guy says, “So, you know that it doesn’t pay enough to survive on. It’s legal for me to grow ’cause of the MS.”

I stare at his eyes. They are red, but happy.

Half-naked guy says, “I’ve got a lot of friends who stop by, you know. They stop by…”

Me (finally getting it), “OH!”

Half-naked guy smiles really big and says, “You can stop by if you want. You don’t have to partake but I can tell, you and me, we’re on the same wavelength you know.”

This is possibly true because I am one of those people that drunk and high people insist is drunk and high when I am in fact completely sober. My brain is just wired that way.

Half-naked guy then tells me a massive list of reporters, cops, teachers, etc, who come by and ‘visit’ him. 

He tells me names!!!! People’s names! They could be summonsed or arrested or something (back then because it was totally illegal) and he tells me their names and I know all of them. All. Of. Them. If I was an evil politician, I could blackmail people. I am not an evil politician. This is possibly why I was so bad at being a politician, actually.

Anyways, it takes him a long, long time to say a sentence. All this time pot smell is sticking to my hair and clothes. The caretaker/giver guy and teen boy keep getting up and leaving and coming back. Half-naked man keeps smoking and rolling, smoking and rolling.

And me? I am suddenly getting the munchies and I have the urge to say, “Dude… Man… I just love you, dude. And your MS totally sucks, but man… I love you.”

I manage to resist the urge, but just barely.

So, my chaperone and keeper, Joe Pat realizes that I’ve been gone awhile and he comes in. They bring him back to me. Joe Pat looks like he is in Heaven. He can’t stop smiling.

Half-naked guy looks up at Joe Pat and says, “You want a toke?”

Joe Pat blushes and goes, “No. No, man. I’m good.”

I get ready to leave and half-naked pot man makes a fist for me. We touch fists. And he goes, I am dead serious, he goes, “Pot for Peace, Carrie. Pot for Peace.”

Joe Pat and I get back into his Saab and Joe Pat is grabbing the steering wheel, not really saying words but just sort of all manic energy before he finally says, “Holy sh–t! That was amazing. Did you see all that? I’ve never seen so much pot in my life. And I’m a drummer.” 

I start cracking up. I can’t stop. 

Joe Pat backs out of the driveway and says, “You have a contact high, Carrie, don’t you? Oh, crap. *Will is going to kill me. Do you still want to do doors?”

I hold out my hair. “Does my hair smell?”

He sniffs in. “Hell yeah.”

I nod, think (which takes a long time) and say, “Yeah, I better do doors. I’ll just tell people I went to a pot house.”

So that’s what I do. Overall, it was one of the most mellow doors night I’ve had, but no, I wasn’t very efficient and possibly talked way too much about the pot house, healthcare, and why my hair smelled.

Yes. Another reason why I didn’t win.

*Will was my campaign manager.

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Blog Break – Sort Of

It’s a big holiday week here and so Carrie is going to be taking a bit of a blog break for the next two weeks. There will be a new podcast next Tuesday, but other than that? It’s a little time for Carrie’s brain to recharge and rest. So, she’ll be posting random blogs from her past. Thank you for understanding!



I do art stuff. You can find it and buy a print here. 


You can order my middle grade fantasy novel Time Stoppers Escape From the Badlands here or anywhere.

People call it a cross between Harry Potter and Percy Jackson but it’s set in Maine. It’s full of adventure, quirkiness and heart.

Time Stoppers Carrie Jones Middle grade fantasy


The Spy Who Played Baseball is a picture book biography about Moe Berg. And… there’s a movie out now about Moe Berg, a major league baseball player who became a spy. How cool is that?

It’s awesome and quirky and fun.


Men in Black meet Buffy the Vampire Slayer? You know it. You can buy them hereor anywhere.



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Author: carriejonesbooks

I am the NYT and internationally-bestselling author of children's books, which include the NEED series, FLYING series, TIME STOPPERS series, DEAR BULLY and other books. I like hedgehogs and puppies and warm places. I have none of these things in my life.

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