As I listen to Travis* talk, the fundamentals of his old job begin to emerge: a car, a backpack, an ingrained sense of mistrust. Sitting across from me, Travis is keeping two of these elements close at hand. He squints up at the lights, adjusts the brim of his hat, and lets his eyes slide back and forth. He wants to make sure he’s not recognized, and he guards what he says to keep any identifiers from slipping out. His discomfort is palpable, but understandable. While he’s a normal Garfield student in most respects, Travis is also a former drug dealer.

In 2008, the United States Drug Enforcement Administration seized over 600,000 kilos of marijuana, mostly smuggled in from Mexico and Canada. These smuggling operations are generally overseen by Mexican drug trafficking cartels, which control the wholesale distribution of the drug in most of the country, or by Asian criminal organizations, the main suppliers of Canadian marijuana.

The marijuana that makes its way past the DEA is sold by the traffickers to mid-level dealers. From there, it’s either bought by gangs who handle their own distribution, or by independent dealers who will re-sell it until it reaches low-level dealers like Travis. Travis sells directly to users. At this essentially retail level, it’s up to the individual to turn dealing into a profitable enterprise.

Travis and Ted*, a close friend, began dealing at the end of their sophomore year at Garfield. They became part of what an ABC News report estimates as a $36 billion dollar industry in the United States. Both of them smoked weed already, so they were able to find a supplier quickly.

“Our friend had a [dealer] connection who was able to come through a few times, and [we] made good money,” says Ted. They dealt in ounces, buying weed at roughly $200 per ounce. They profited by breaking the weed down and re-selling it. At their peak, they were making $80 to $200 profit per ounce, and moving three to four ounces a week.

“It all adds up pretty quickly,” says Ted. He and Travis were selling to a wide variety of people across the Seattle area.

“That’s why dealing’s tight, it’s like a big network,” says Travis. Everything was running smoothly for the pair. They encountered few problems, and Ted recalls the electric feeling upon receiving his “first fat stack of cash.” They loved having money on them and having plenty of weed to smoke.

Neil*, a 2009 Garfield graduate and former dealer, describes a similar trajectory. He began dealing during his senior year, and had little problem getting into the business. “I always smoked, so it started out just smoking for free. Then I saw a little money, and it just grew from there,” he recalls. “People trusted me because they knew I smoked.”

On TV, drug dealers are caricatured high-rollers or villainous thugs whose lives are filled with wild shoot-outs, high-stakes deals and partying. Yet the day-to-day routine of a low-level dealer is more monotonous. Neil’s phone rang constantly, “from 10 in the morning until midnight, and then you gotta spend all day running around.” Ted, Travis and Neil all had clients across Seattle, and a dealer can’t be a chooser if he wants to make money.

In addition to the time commitment, all three were aware of the inherent risk in dealing. Ted describes it as a paradox:

“You want everyone to know, and yet no one to know at the same time.” Lots of customers meant a successful operation, but publicity could be a liability. It’s easy for a dealer to be targeted by those who want to take their money or weed by force. Neil says that when he began dealing, he was suspicious of most who called him.

“You can’t get too cocky,” says Ted, “You think you won’t get robbed, but someone will try it.”

Eventually, Travis and Ted themselves became targets. They got a call from a stranger who wanted to buy a large amount of weed, and they figured it was worth the risk. Once they arrived, however, things didn’t feel right. There was a pair of guys waiting for them, and the one who had set up the deal was vague about how he had acquired Travis’ number.

“He was acting all weird about the money,” says Travis, “Telling me to let him see the bud without taking out any cash.” Suddenly, one of the two strangers pulled a gun on the pair, and everything went to hell.

“You get a gun pulled on you, you want to defend yourself, but you don’t want to make the person mad,” says Travis. They ran, but the man cornered Travis. The assailant pistol-whipped Travis, and the gun fired. The two managed to escape, but decided to stop dealing.

Getting robbed wasn’t the only risk they were running. Marijuana dealers aren’t generally the target of high-level police surveillance, but it’s still a Schedule I controlled substance by the DEA. In Washington state, first time offenders caught in “possession with intent to distribute” face up to six months in prison and $10,000 in fines, yet Ted was never too worried.

“I never got caught for dealing, but I’ve gotten caught for smoking a few times. Most [cops] don’t do anything unless they’re a douchebag or you have more than 40 grams. One of the biggest suppliers I know is the son of a cop. You just gotta be smart,” he says.

Neil’s take is different. He felt that the Capitol Hill and Central District regions were getting “too hot” in terms of police scrutiny.

“It got hella stressful, and I wasn’t trying to deal with that anymore,” he says. The Seattle Police Department executed a yearlong operation, ending in August, which gathered information on crack cocaine dealers between Madison and Jackson along 23rd Avenue. They built criminal cases to be used as leverage to force dealers into rehabilitation programs. The increased police presence encouraged Neil to stop dealing.

Now that they’re out of the business, all three are surprisingly flippant about their time as dealers. Travis and Ted regard their time spent dealing as an overall success.

“I pretty much did everything the same in my life, except with weed,” says Ted. Travis adds that “we didn’t lose any money, and we got a little bit out, which doesn’t happen to a lot of people.” Neil feels similarly. While dealing, he had “hella money, and I still have hella money.” None of them seem concerned about risks they were running or the illegality of the business.

Travis leans back in his chair and tips his hat off his forehead. He says that now that he’s out of the business, life’s pretty much back to normal. He still goes to Garfield, still has school work to do, and still plans to graduate in 2010. He and Ted say that they’d consider getting back into dealing at some point, especially now that they have experience.

“As far as getting back into it, I can do it anytime. I’d just rather focus on school, and I gotta graduate before anything else,” says Ted. “I don’t think anyone has replaced me, people are always gonna be dealing. I know I can get the best bud in Seattle, no questions asked. Everyone says that but not everyone can go through with it like [I can].”

Neil is less clear about his future, now that he’s out of high school and no longer dealing. What comes next?

“I don’t know,” he says, “Get a real job, I guess.”

*Name changed to protect identity.