Scobb

Scobb--{noun} a person who is unaware that a joint is being passed to them, which causes the joint to go out.

I dreamed I was in a car with Uncle Steve at a rock concert/fireworks show. It was kind of a drive-in affair with everyone parking their cars in a favorable direction to see the sky. We were driving around, pre-show, attempting to smoke a joint while not getting caught. That was our old-school mentality anyway, as it was perfectly legal to do so in the proper venue, though we were ignorant of the actual laws.

Prior to the joint passing incident in which my uncle would refer to himself as a "scobb," we were in the parking lot/amphitheater, which just happened to be freeway adjacent, and we had to vacate our spot due to some sort of atmospheric debris or space junk landing in our prospective seating. 

We had to go through some hoops to settle the misunderstanding with management, so we proceeded on foot, Steve walking and myself bounding like a gazelle, down the freeway. 

"Hey look at me. I don't run like a girl. I run like a gazelle," I made mention of my bounding, skipping gait to whoever was present. I was pretty proud of the effortless acceleration I had while proceeding barefoot down the freeway's shoulder, almost keeping pace with traffic.

There was a long hallway, the kind athletes or rockstars use to make their entrance, through which we made our way backwards. We needed to reach the office in order to straighten out our seating arrangement due to the space junk issue. We went through a door at the end of it and into a theater lobby type of place, complete with concession stands. 

We spoke to a police officer, who assured us it was going to be OK but that we needed to get back to the parking lot before it filled up. The door to the parking lot entrance appeared to be closed, which would have thrown a wrench, but fortunately, a kindly lady police officer had been holding it ajar for us the whole time. We thanked her and continued down the hallway and into the parking lot where we found our car, which now had to be moved. 

That was about the time we decided we needed to start smoking joints if we were ever going to get properly baked before the show began. I kept having to light the joint, as my uncle was preoccupied with driving and looking confused. The joints were of a pretty low quality, both in content and form, so he wasn't entirely to blame, though he graciously didn't mention it, as I had both grown and rolled them myself.

"I'm just a scobb," he said, assuming responsibility for the unsatisfying way in which the whole joint smoking process was going. I guess that's pretty much where we ended the dream, driving around with a poorly lit joint, waiting for the fireworks/rock concert to begin.