So You Want to Start a Dispensary: A Guide to Bankruptcy in 97 Easy Steps
From False Hope to Financial Ruin: Your Step-by-Step Journey Through America's Favorite Regulatory Gauntlet
Introduction:
So you want to start a dispensary. Maybe you were inspired by the plant. Maybe you heard the words "green rush" in 2016 and never looked back. Or maybe you just enjoy recreational masochism. Whatever brought you here, welcome. This document will guide you through every excruciating, over-regulated, hilariously expensive step of launching your dream—right before it becomes your lifelong cautionary tale.
Form your LLC. Congratulations, you now own a legally recognized entity destined to hemorrhage money. Don’t worry, you’ll need two more before the end of this guide. Structure it poorly so your tax burden becomes a spiritual crisis.
Hire a lawyer. Find someone who charges $500/hour and visibly winces when you say “cannabis.” Ideally, they’ve never used it and call it “the marihuana.”
Buy the domain name. Every cool name is already taken or being squatted on by a failed NFT weed company. You settle on “HerbanSolutions420.biz” and convince yourself it’s good.
Choose a brand name. It can’t include cannabis, weed, pot, or marijuana. Make sure it has 3 unnecessary vowels and looks like a vitamin brand. Bonus points if it sounds like a meditation app.
Submit your zoning request. Get denied because your location is within 1,000 feet of a preschool, bus stop, or spiritual vortex. Dennis from zoning will become your arch-nemesis.
Pay $5,000 in non-refundable application fees. Because government extortion wears khakis and smiles now. That money funds another seminar on safe labeling fonts.
Create your social equity plan. Use buzzwords like “uplift,” “reinvest,” and “marginalized” while doing absolutely none of those things. Just copy someone else’s and hope.
Pretend you support veterans, women, and children. Add stock photos of diverse people on your deck while your C-suite remains five white guys named Eric.
Attend your first licensing seminar. Cost: $750. Value: One sticker, two bad muffins, and the creeping realization that you're deeply unqualified.
Write a 65-page community reinvestment plan. Mostly plagiarized. Mostly unread. Mostly irrelevant.
Hire your first consultant. They’ll give you a 30-page PDF of made-up acronyms, zero real help, and ghost you at the first invoice.
Build a pitch deck. Make sure it includes words like “disruptive,” “eco-conscious,” and “vibe.” No financials. That’s for cowards.
Meet with a cannabis investor. He wears a suit jacket over a graphic tee and tells you he “almost launched Leafly.” He will Venmo you $12 and a cease-and-desist.
Raise $150k. From your uncle, dentist, and that one crypto guy you met at MJBizCon. It’s gone in 3 months.
File for permits. Wait 6–12 business eternities. Then get denied because your address is now a parking garage.
Take out a second mortgage. You're now fully financially exposed for a product that may not legally exist next year.
Pick a location. Too close to a church? Denied. Too far from a school? Denied. Too perfect? Someone already owns it.
Move locations. Find a worse one. Celebrate with tears and whiskey.
Draft a security plan. Make it sound like you're preparing for a zombie apocalypse. Include motion sensors, vaults, and an on-call sniper.
Fire your second consultant. He worked out of a car wash. And charged you $6,000 for "branding vibes."
Try to meet your compliance officer. She’s currently in Bali “connecting with plants.”
Attend another seminar. New city, same muffins. The keynote speaker is a guy banned from three states.
Draft an SOP manual. Make sure it's 900 pages and incomprehensible to everyone, including you.
Get fingerprinted. For the third time. By a man who says, “this isn’t even my main job.”
Write a mission statement. Include empowering phrases like “healing the community through plant-based passion.” Immediately ignore it.
Hire a grant writer. They’ll submit two poorly formatted PDFs and vanish into the mist.
Write a diversity plan. Still just Kyles on staff.
File a FOIA request. Learn that the licenses have already been awarded to someone named Chad Chadson.
Cry in your car. Again.
Submit your Metrc application. Accidentally link it to your grandmother’s Facebook.
Start construction. Find out the building was last used as a meth lab. Budget just exploded.
Rent a port-a-potty. It costs $1,200/month. It smells like your future.
Submit your logo to the state. Get rejected for “appearing too fun.”
Redesign your logo. It now looks like an insurance company for dogs.
Write your product descriptions. Include “notes of citrus,” “hand-trimmed,” and other lies.
Order display cases. They arrive broken. Twice.
Order again. They send you shelves for a vape shop in Wichita.
Hire a retail consultant. He suggests bean bags and lava lamps. You consider arson.
Get your fire inspection. Fail because your lightbulbs are the wrong Kelvin temperature.
Install security cameras. Every angle except the one that matters.
Host a community meeting. No one shows up except a guy yelling about lizard people.
Buy compliant packaging. Accidentally purchase 6,000 units labeled “For Adult Use Only – May Contain Batteries.”
Apply for your local license. The website is down for “maintenance” for 11 days.
Get sued by a neighboring business. Their claim? “Your vibes are off.”
Change your brand name. Again.
Hire a local influencer. They misspell your store name in every post.
Print your first batch of shirts. Discover 1,000 of them say “Dispencary.”
Order your POS system. It crashes every 6 minutes and reports all sales to Pizza Hut.
Run background checks on employees. Realize you're the only one who’d pass.
Hire a manager. They quit after two weeks to start a mushroom farm.
Beg the state for final inspection. They lose your paperwork. Twice.
Prepare your opening inventory. Products arrive 3 days late and half melted.
Set up your website. Accidentally list weed as $0.69/oz. Go viral. Get raided.
Hold a soft launch. Two friends show up. One steals a hoodie.
Try to go live in Metrc. You click “Sync.” Your store disappears from existence.
Send a press release. Nobody reads it. Not even your mom.
Start Instagram marketing. Get banned for posting a leaf.
Redesign all labels again. The word “relax” is now considered a medical claim.
Appeal to the state. They send you a 478-page PDF and a smiley face.
Start operating. Customers only want $20 ounces and free lighters.
Get your first complaint. Someone found a stem. You consider closing.
Host your grand opening. It's raining. The DJ gets high and plays Enya.
Pay $9,000 in taxes. Realize you made $9,050 total.
Deal with a robbery. They take the cash, the weed, and your confidence.
Attempt to rebrand. Your new name autocorrects to “Fartleaf.”
File your first compliance audit. You submit it at 11:59pm. On the wrong day.
Lose an employee to a competitor. They got a $0.25 raise and better snacks.
Fix your HVAC. It now blows weed smell directly into the dentist’s office next door.
Try to sell to another retailer. They offer you $400 and a case of expired gummies.
Cry again. But now on Instagram Live.
Attend MJBizCon. You come home with 40 pens, a mild rash, and no leads.
Apply for a grant. You misspell your name and get rejected by default.
Attempt a brand partnership. They send you 600 jars and ghost you forever.
Get fined for wrong font size. On a sample label. In your office. Off-hours.
Go to therapy. She tells you to “consider another industry.”
Try to host an event. Get fined for unpermitted music and “vague vibes.”
Realize your camera footage is looping. From a wedding in 2009.
Lose power. Your freezer inventory is now artisan soup.
Launch delivery. Your driver gets lost and ends up in a different county.
Try influencer marketing again. They ask for $10k and 4 grams. Return zero sales.
Apply for another license. You’re now $1.2 million in debt. For fun.
Try selling pre-rolls. Immediately accused of lacing them with sadness.
Get a celebrity endorsement. They turn out to be a felon. Twice.
Your bank drops you. You’re now storing cash in a Pringles can.
Try barter system. Trade eighths for roof repairs. Fail.
Hire a PR firm. They charge $15k to get you 11 likes.
Lose your inventory. Turns out your cat can open vaults.
Get audited again. This time it’s spiritual.
Rebuild your SOPs. Just use ChatGPT. Everyone else does.
Re-hire that first consultant. He’s changed. He now charges double.
Launch a wellness line. Your bath bombs explode.
Get invited to speak. It’s a panel called “Survivors of Licensing.”
Try to sell the business. No takers. Even for $4.20.
Contemplate franchising. Immediately laugh yourself into a coma.
Start making memes. Suddenly your engagement goes up.
Realize you’ve become the cautionary tale. Welcome to the club.
Repeat step 1. Because you are, above all else, addicted to pain.
98. Conclusion
You did it. You followed all 97 steps, sold your car, lost your dignity, and made it all the way to a grand opening attended by four people and a dog named Biscuit.
And then you got a cease-and-desist for your logo.
But hey, at least you’re in the cannabis industry. That’s what matters, right? Right?
Good luck out there. You're gonna need it.
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