Considering what could have gone into that prime Lower Haight location -- a vegan deli or even a fetish/biker/porn bookstore -- another head shop seemed surprisingly uncreative. It also raised a question that has long bugged us: How many head shops does one community really need? There are plenty only a short bus ride away in the Upper Haight, and another located even more conveniently a few blocks down at Haight and Fillmore. Besides, dope paraphernalia seems like the kind of thing that should have constant but limited demand. Most tokers stick loyally with the same trusty bong for years, replacing it only if it's lost in a tragic accident.
And yet, there they were -- a row of garish purple and green hookahs looming in the window of Sam's. Their tackiness offended Dog Bites, and we had to avert our eyes while passing.
That was before the dragon chalice arrived.
One afternoon, Dog Bites again passed by the head shop, and caught a flutter of motion out of the corner of our eye. We turned to look and stopped dead. Magical steam appeared to be billowing from the foot-high ceramic chalice. Its cup was in the form of a gigantic human skull, with a green worm poking out of the eye sockets and flame-motif eyebrows. Perched on the rim was a dastardly wizard, holding a scepter. Facing him was a dragon. Inside the cup, seeming to float in the bank of mysterious mist, was a cluster of crystals. Dog Bites watched, transfixed, as the crystals changed colors several times.
Inside, Adam Ramahi, the thirtysomething owner, stood behind the counter in conservative tan corduroy pants and a velour sweater. Frenetic Egyptian music was playing, and nobody else was in the store. Ramahi eyed us suspiciously when we told him we were seeking information about the chalice.
"My friend brought it from New York," he said, shrugging. "It's a new item on the market."
A card attached to the chalice identified it as part of the Midori Mint Collection, a line of handcrafted fantasy collectibles, noting that "Elegance and Ingenuity have never been this pleasing."
Though it bore no price tag, Ramahi told us we could have the chalice for $100. He added that he'd already sold three others with slightly different designs. One, he explained in halting English, had movable wings. "Put dragon here," he said, "go like this." He pointed to the bowl of the chalice, then raised his arms to simulate a dragon spreading its wings. To create the magical mist, he said, the chalice had to be refilled with half a cup of water every five or six hours.
It was a bit more than Dog Bites had budgeted for stoner objet d'art impulse buys. But now that Ramahi had us, we decided to take a look around his shop. There was the usual assortment of wind-resistant lighters, hemp rolling papers, and stash boxes. At the back wall, however, we were surprised to see a rack of porno movies. This was no simple head shop, but rather a one-stop shop for the lowlife bachelor. What had inspired Ramahi to launch this endeavor?
"I dunno," he said. "It's just a store. Low overhead."
At our prompting, he unenthusiastically showed us his biggest-selling items -- a lighter decorated with a woman in a bikini (whose breast was exposed when rubbed) and an assortment of small glass water pipes.
"No, I don't use [dope]," said Ramahi pre-emptively, eyeing the pipes. "It's what sells." He then peered at Dog Bites and asked very seriously, "Do you use?" Feeling Ramahi's schoolmarmish stare upon us, we answered, less than accurately, "No."
"That's good," he sniffed.
We left feeling that Ramahi would just as soon be selling widgets. It was a fluke that his New York pal happened to bring him the magical chalice. The friend could have brought something less magical -- a naked-lady candle or bubble gum-flavored condoms -- and Ramahi probably would have sold that, too.
But though straight-laced, Ramahi might have a bit of the magician in him. How else could he have bewitched Dog Bites into a run-of-the-mill corner head shop? Head shops and Dog Bites -- yeah, we have a history. There was a time, long, long ago, when we breathed deeply of Black Love incense, pawed through psychedelic poster racks, and gripped crocheted Rasta hacky sacks in our fist with passion. But then we grew bored and moved on, viewing such head shop browsing as beneath us. It took a damn fine chalice to bring us back to our roots.
