This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

De Beque, Colorado •

When Sonny and I pulled into Kush Gardens, the place looked like a convenience store transformed into a bunker. The chain link fence had a "Beware of Dog" sign. Two armed security guards were outside.

It was my first experience with a marijuana dispensary. Except for the overpowering smell of marijuana, it was almost nothing like I expected. It was extremely well organized which, trust me, is not something potheads are known for.

We had to show our state-issued ID when we walked into the door, then wait in an anteroom for one of several "budsmen" to finish with the customers ahead of us. Then we were allowed to approach the counter and make our selection.

The young woman behind the counter at Kush Gardens marijuana dispensary suggested I try a cannabis creme to alleviate my shoulder pain.

Normally, I'm suspicious of advice from 20-somethings with tattoos, nose rings and neon hair, but she obviously knew way more about weed than I did. As a budsman, her entire job was hooking customers up with their proper weed need.

Getting high is nice, a condition only people who have never experienced it would argue with. Judging from the display cases, there was a medicinal weed cure for anything — anxiety, depression, impotency, self-righteousness and misdemeanor ugly.

I explained that I wasn't interested in getting high, per se (only a partial lie); I merely wanted to stop waking up in the morning barely able to move.

The budsman explained that the creme wouldn't impair me because most of the THC had been removed from it, which is why it cost more than the others. It's like decaffeinating coffee.

Using he creme might cause a slight buzz, but nothing like smoking or ingesting the real thing. It was specifically created for pain relief, making it sort of a "Budgay" weed product.

Me: "OK, I'll take some of that."

Her: "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. We're out of it today."

They had been out of it for a week, because geezers within 500 miles of the place bought the creme for arthritis, back pain, failing knees, twitchy elbows, swollen fingers and every other hurt that coots like me collect as we age.

Since I was only interested in not hurting without having to take Ibuprofen or opiates, and they didn't have what I wanted, I went outside to wait while Sonny continued to shop.

One of the security guys was still there. He was not only well-armed, but also large enough to pull a lung out of a horse. I spoke with him about the need for security at a dispensary.

He said there had been armed robberies of dispensaries, which made sense given that not only is the product itself widely sought after, but it's also a cash-only business.

As for the customers, there were no more problems from them than those expected at a Rite Aid or a Walgreens. All in all, guarding a dispensary was much easier than being a bouncer at a bar or nightclub.

This is not to say that problems between customers are nonexistent. I was leaning on our car when an SUV with Colorado plates pulled into the lot. Spotting our Utah plates, they laughed and shook their fingers at us.

I thought about making something out of it, but then remembered the security guard. The last thing I needed was more pain.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley