In what friends describe as “a rescue mission to the modern age,” a group of increasingly exasperated adults staged an intervention last weekend for their longtime friend, Rob Warner, who continues to show up at trendy dispensaries wearing tie-dye and calling cannabis “marijuana” as if it’s still 1976.

“We couldn’t take it anymore,” said Emily, a friend of Rob’s since college. “We’re trying to embrace the whole wellness and elevated culture thing, and here he comes, strolling into these places like he’s wandered off from a Grateful Dead concert, loudly asking if they have any ‘marijuana.’ People actually stared. They had marble countertops. He didn’t even notice the countertops.”

Friends say that Rob’s behavior hasn’t evolved one bit despite the modern shift in cannabis culture. He still insists on calling joints “doobies” and talks about “scoring some herb,” oblivious to the fact that people now purchase “flower” and have opinions on terpenes and microdosing. “Just last month, he asked the guy at the counter, ‘Where’s the dankest ganja in the house, man?’” said Ryan, shaking his head. “The staff was explaining terpene profiles and cannabinoid ratios to actual customers, and Rob’s out here asking if they have ‘any primo grass.’ He’s a hazard.”

The breaking point came when Rob’s friends planned a relaxed afternoon at one of the city’s top dispensaries—a sleek, glass-and-steel space that offers tastings, product pairings, and a sommelier-style guide to strains. “It was supposed to be a classy day,” said Liz, who organized the trip. “But Rob showed up in his tie-dye hoodie and started talking about ‘reefer.’ The staff looked like they’d seen a ghost. A very stoned, outdated ghost.”

Rob’s attire and outdated language aren’t his only offenses. Apparently, he has a habit of sparking up right outside these high-end dispensaries and shouting, “The green scene is alive and well, baby!” He even ends every purchase with a wink and the words, “Time to go get lit!” Friends worry he might actually believe he’s in a ‘70s sitcom.

In an attempt to bring Rob into the 21st century, his friends offered him a “Modern Cannabis Survival Kit,” complete with a neutral-colored beanie, a sleek metal grinder, and a vocabulary guide featuring updated terms like “flower,” “edibles,” and “vape.” They also included a gift card to an upscale brand specializing in single-origin edibles and CBD-infused lotions. “We thought he’d be thrilled, but he just said, ‘This is all a little too corporate, don’t you think?’” recalled Emily. “We give up.”

But Rob remains defiant. “Everyone’s so uptight about ‘cannabis’ and ‘flower,’ like they’re talking about fine wine. Back in the day, it was just some good ol’ marijuana,” he said. “I’m keeping it real.” His friends, however, don’t see it that way. “Real? He asked if they had ‘any good kush’ in a place that has marble countertops and a curated playlist,” said Ryan. “It’s just… not working.”

As he left the intervention, Rob shrugged off his friends’ concerns. “Hey, they’ll come around,” he said, donning a new tie-dye hoodie for emphasis. But his friends aren’t convinced. For now, they’ve accepted that Rob might always be the guy in the tie-dye, eternally on a mission to “find the dankest buds” in an industry that left him—and his language—in the past.