Siri has led me a mile down a lonely dirt road that’s got more holes than a wheel of Swiss cheese. We’ve already blown past several angry looking “No Trespassing” signs and a squirrel clearly irritated by the intrusion.
As we pull up to a rusty building surrounded by dangerous-looking farm implements, Siri chirps: “You have arrived at your destination!” I’ve already established that it’s doubtful we’re at the cannabis-focused garden party I’m looking for. No sane woman is climbing over a broken tiller in heels. Even for marijuana-infused chocolate.