“HAPPIEST WORKFORCE IN AMERICA” — I FOUND THEM LIVING IN A BROKEN DOWN GROW OP IN ADELANTO

Boof du Jour embedded at the scene where cannabis dreams came to rot.

Dateline: Adelanto, CA

I’m standing in what was supposed to be the future of the California cannabis economy—Adelanto, the desert city that sold its soul to weed licensing and ended up with boarded-up warehouses, unpaid utility bills, and a tent village outside what used to be the city’s crown jewel dispensary.

The ground crunches under my feet—broken glass, dried up joint roaches, the remnants of what was once a “green rush.” It smells like dirt, diesel, and regret.

They told us cannabis jobs were the happiest in America. The happiest workforce is right here: cooking beans on a propane burner behind a gutted PharmaCann facility.

Scene One: The Grow Op that Grew Nothing

I walk through the husk of a facility that was once pitched as “California’s model cultivation campus.” Now? The windows are broken, the gates hang open, and someone’s tagged “PAY ME BITCH” across what used to be the lobby.

Inside, a guy named Mike is living under a makeshift tarp. He says he was the assistant grow manager until his paycheck bounced twice, then stopped arriving at all.

“They said we were pioneers. They meant we’d be the first to get fucked.”

Scene Two: The Workforce of the Future

I meet Jessie, still wearing his old MedMen cultivation shirt, sitting on a folding chair next to a burned-out Prius. He says it was company property—abandoned during the first round of layoffs.

“They called it the happiest job because we got free t-shirts and weed they couldn’t sell. Guess what? I’d rather have rent.”

Next to him, Sabrina is selling “artisanal” pre-rolls made from shake and desperation.

“This is social equity, baby. We’re socially equal now—we’re all broke together.”

Fake Survey Meet Real Life

That survey making the rounds about cannabis workers being the happiest?👉 Tell that to the group I find playing hacky sack with a crumpled Stiiizy tin while passing around a bottle of bottom-shelf tequila.

They tell me they once worked at brands like Connected, Cookies, MedMen, and Jungle Boys. Now? They’re “freelance consultants”—aka, no one’s hiring, and they’re praying for a job trimming for a guy named Chad who might be real.

On-Site Quotes

“I was happy. Then the company went under and so did my credit score.” — former budtender, now living in a tent behind a former dispensary

“If this is the happiest workforce, show me the fucking miserable one.” — ex-cultivation tech, lighting a blunt with a gas station lighter

“My 401K is a Folgers can full of nickels.” — ex-retail manager, charging phones at an abandoned grow

Brands? What Brands?

Every time I ask where they worked, I get the same laugh: 👉 “You name it.”

Connected. Stiiizy. MedMen. Cresco. “That one MSO that came through for a minute.”

The only thing these brands have in common? They promised stability, equity, growth—and left these people here.

Final Scene

As the sun sets, the warehouse glows red—not from grow lights, but from a trash fire someone started to keep warm.

The happiest workforce in America is here, alright. They’re high, hungry, and absolutely fucking aware of how hard the industry failed them.