Go ahead; try it. Go into, oh, an Orange County nightclub, for example, and say it: "gamma-hydroxybutyrate." In some cases, you may have to begin your outreach with a few of the word's more vulgar synonyms—"GHB," "G," "scoop" and the like—if you want to be best understood. And a little patience goes a long way toward maximizing your enjoyment of the experience. Say "gamma-hydroxybutyrate" too soon or in combination with other highs (such as conversation, music, dancing or taking a leak), and it can spoil them. In fact, for maximum pleasure, it's best to say, "gamma-hydroxybutyrate" just before you plan to leave—especially if you never intend to come back.
Say it to the doorman, the bouncer, the bartender, that guy in the bathroom who keeps flushing the toilet and staring down at the swooshing water, the girl on the dance floor who is liking you a lot more than she ought to: gamma-hydroxybutyrate! Then stand back and wait for the rush.
"In most Orange County clubs, the owners and their security are so anal and tight that they will 86 you for life just for talking about it," said Altan Asku, a 30-year-old who promotes shows at Tropics and the Rhino Room in Huntington Beach and at the Shark Club in Costa Mesa. "They'll pat you down and ask a million questions, pretty much like a modern-day Gestapo."
Who needs the Gestapo? Fact is in circumstances such as this, it's quite possible that the person you will be saying, "gamma-hydroxybutyrate" to is someone from an actual, modern-day law-enforcement organization.
"We have a ton of undercover narcotics people out there," acknowledged Lieutenant Tom Garner of the Orange County Sheriff's Department, who turned out to be one heckuva guy a few minutes after I phoned him and slipped some gamma-hydroxybutyrate into our conversation. "I can't give away too much about their tactics, but they are definitely out there trying to buy from people. They are looking for them."
Asku agrees that law enforcement has infiltrated Orange County nightspots. "Lately, I've been seeing agents everywhere," he said. "They're cracking down so hard that it's impossible to miss them. They don't look like the regular patrons, and you see the same ones everywhere, coming in and out of the clubs all night long."
But Asku suspects that these agents may be looking for something beyond gamma-hydroxybutyrate. "I think it's another reason to crack down on clubs in Orange County," he said. "I think that's always the case. It's been the general pattern of the past 20 years. Recently, we've seen it at Metropolis, and then it expanded to Club Rubber. The conditional-use permits are already so restrictive—in some places, you're not even allowed to dance after 10 p.m."
Asku isn't saying that there isn't gamma-hydroxybutyrate out there, but he maintains that talk about it far exceeds its actual presence. "Mostly, what I hear are rumors," he said. "Every now and then, I see a guy or girl pass out, get taken outside, get revived and leave. I'm not talking about the people who've had too many shooters; they don't get so lifeless when they pass out, and they don't revive so well—without the hangover—when they come to. But I've been out on the club scene seven nights a week for 10 years, and I don't witness it firsthand all that much."
Asku didn't even get to do much witnessing the time he actually took some gamma-hydroxybutyrate. "I took one tablespoon of it, and I passed out right away," he recalled. "It was the only time I tried it. I was curious. But the only thing I had to show for it was the bump on my head from where I hit the floor."
Sunny doesn't do gamma-hydroxybutyrate anymore, either. "I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I guess I've probably outgrown it."
Me, too. Yet for all the positive, euphoric, sensual and vicarious effects of saying, "gamma-hydroxybutyrate" with all the cops, health experts, night owls and the rest, I can't help but wonder about its potential for abuse. I mean, can you talk about it too much?
"Now I just watch other people," Sunny said. "And talk about it."
