By Bobi and Todd

Let me tell you what I learned at Cannadelic on Saturday, September 19: if you want to talk to strangers about cannabis policy, don’t lead with policy. Lead with a free T-shirt.

Todd — my ride-or-die — and I rolled in to table for the Florida Cannabis Action Network (FLCAN) armed with flyers, passion, and one extremely strategic hemp T-shirt. It was a beauty, too: soft hemp with a breezy Jimmy Buffett vibe, the kind of shirt that says “I care about sensible drug laws AND I know where the good key lime pie is.” We raffled it off — no purchase necessary, no pop quiz on Florida statutes, just write your name down and come talk to us. People will cross a parking lot in Florida heat for a free shirt, and once they’re at your table, you can tell them anything — including the truth.

Once we had them, we talked about the real stuff. FLCAN has been fighting since the ’90s for the radical idea that adults shouldn’t be punished for a plant, that patients deserve whole-plant access, and that your garden is your business. We told folks about Cannabis at the Capitol, our annual pilgrimage to Tallahassee where regular Floridians learn how laws actually get made and get face time with the people making them. Democracy is a lot less intimidating when you’re among friends.

But the soul of our table was Cathy Jordan. If you’ve been in this fight more than five minutes, you know her name. Florida called her the patron saint of medical cannabis, and she earned it. Diagnosed with ALS in 1986 and given a few years to live, Cathy credited cannabis with keeping her alive for decades — and spent those decades fighting so other patients could have the same chance. She led FLCAN as president and never stopped showing up. Pete Sessa of Cannadelic told us she was his favorite person, that she always made him laugh at the Capitol. Think about that: the woman spent her life battling stigma and politicians, and she still brought the funny. Her son John was at Cannadelic that day, and seeing him there made it feel like a relay — she ran her leg, and we’re all still running ours.

Then came the moment we’d all been waiting for: the raffle drawing. The shirt went home with Allison, a genuinely lovely woman who lit up over photos of our puppy dogs like they were old friends. Rumor has it she even followed our Facebook page, The Goof Troop Chronicles: Living with Canine Epilepsy. So to recap Allison’s afternoon: she supported cannabis reform, learned about canine epilepsy, and left carrying a shirt that’ll help her find her lost shaker of salt. That’s what we call a full-service advocacy experience. Congratulations, Allison — wear it somewhere with a breeze.

Here’s the thing nobody tells you about tabling: it’s not really about the flyers. It’s about the moment a stranger stops seeing “activist” and starts seeing a person. A free shirt gets them to the table. A laugh keeps them there. And a story like Cathy’s reminds them why any of it matters. Every person who walked away from our table knowing a little more about Cannabis at the Capitol is a person who might show up in Tallahassee one day. That’s how movements grow — one conversation, one raffle ticket at a time.

If you missed us at Cannadelic, Todd and I will keep the conversation rolling on our podcast, Mondays from the Couch, where we discuss the plant, the people, the politics, and the absurdity tangled up in all three. Pull up a cushion.

And huge thanks to Jodi James for the honor and privilege of tabling with FLCAN at Cannadelic, to Pete Sessa and the Cannadelic crew for giving FLCAN a platform, and to every single person who stopped, chatted, and entered the raffle. That’s the thing about this movement: it runs on people who open doors for each other.

And the reason we keep walking through those doors, those doors belong to us all: a freer, fairer Florida where patients are protected, adults aren’t punished for a plant, and the laws finally make sense.