Inside the life of a student drug dealer
A ubiquitous shadowy figure scuttling about the underbelly of university life…But are we missing a trick by not following in their footsteps?
Cunning, subtle, an entrepreneur at heart – the student dealer has it sorted.
He usually begins plying his trade in first year. Thousands of freshers come streaming into halls, hungry for new friends and new experiences and among them one maverick has the answer. He makes a phone call, ‘sorts it’ for his new mates during fresher’s week, and finds, unlike everyone else, that he is feeling pretty flush by the weekend.
The first Motion night rolls around and again a business opportunity arises. So begins that drawn-out cacophony of shrieking and forced friendships—the terrible sounds of Heathfield girls taking MDMA for the first time. ‘I know we don’t know each other that well and I really feel that you and I, are, you know, the same. I feel all hot and cold at once, do you? I fucking love this music, I just fucking love it. We should be best friends.’
Beneath it lurks our mogul in the night, the silent source of the all-incessant noise.
His punters are hooked: their awkward, public school persona has been shed as if by magic in a flurry of house music, bombs and rizla. First year passes in a haze of quiet glory, with a steady flow of cash shuffling through his bedroom door.
Back in the day, before the FBI shutdown, he would dabble in the online drug market– his brilliant, mathematical mind had no trouble with encryption and BitCoins. Don’t underestimate your student dealer, for he possesses that worldly combination of higher consciousness and expert IT skills that come after successfully acquiring DMT from the Silk Road.
Second year sees all sorts tramping up and down his stairs, from West Country farmers to school teachers (true story). His housemates might resent him a little at first, but end up mainlining off him and ultimately funding his University tuition.
By third year he has made enough money to see off his entire student loan and then some. He treats himself to a Lido membership (paid up front, in full, cash, naturally) so when he’s not weighing out ketamine for his friends he is soaking up the essential oils with Clifton’s coffin-dodgers in the steam room.
He’ll probably graduate with a first in Chemical Engineering or Economics – it takes a smart guy to run one’s own small scale narcotics empire. That softly-spoken figure has played the perfect entrepreneurial game. He recognized a gap in the market, exploited it, and profited, living in the lap of luxury and making new friends, contacts and acquaintances all the while. What better use is there of one’s time at University?