Paranoid life

With two cell phones and a pager prominently displayed on his hip, at first glance, one might deduce that Frank* worked either at a Verizon store or managed a Coach boutique. His profession is decidedly less legitimate; Frank, a UW senior, is a drug dealer.

The path Frank has chosen to finance his education and lifestyle may not be typical, but he quickly discards the idea that he is missing out on the traditiona college experience.

"I was never a big fan of frat boys, sororities or school spirit," Frank said.

Unlike the stereotypical image of a drug dealer, Frank does not have a troubled past. He came from a well-off family, born and raised in Seattle's Greenlake neighborhood. He was best known in high school as the class clown and a member of the bowling team.

Although he dabbled with selling weed in high school, it didn't become his primary source of income until about two years ago, when he was a sophomore.

"I went from selling sacks to zones (ounces) to Q.P.s (quarter pounds) to getting pounds fronted to being able to buy pounds and flip them."

Frank's typical clientele ranges in age from mid-20s to 30s. He estimates he brings in $10,000 a week selling a combination of marijuana and the prescription painkiller OxyContin.

Considering his trade, one might presume that Frank was a frequent drug user. He admits that when he first started selling, he smoked weed every day. Nowadays, he classifies his drug use as "occasional," favoring alcohol to either of his wares.

Despite the potentially dangerous nature of the drugs, Frank shies away from discussion of what is actually being sold. Instead, he prefers to discuss the business aspect of being a drug dealer.

"It's not easy. I start working from the moment I wake up until midnight."

When he realized how much money he could make, school became less important, he said. Majoring in a finance-related field, his GPA hovers around 3.0.

"Money is powerful. I eat at any restaurant I want any night of the week and buy every new Nike that comes out," he said.

With money always around, Frank enjoys every comfort of having a large disposable income. Nevertheless, he confesses that he has feelings of guilt when he thinks of those who struggle to make in a year what he does in a month. He proudly reveals streaks of altruism: giving $10 to a homeless man, buying an expensive gift for a broke professor at Christmas.

Frank realizes the risks involved in his trade: jail time and loss of freedom -- not to mention the confiscation of the money. He is plagued with paranoia as a result.

"I had to quit smoking weed because I kept hearing helicopters and sirens when I got high," he said.

He recounted a time when he was pulled over for a traffic stop. He was without vehicle registration, but did have drugs and contraband in his trunk. He emerged unscathed, but was rattled by this close call.

Driving a late-1980s American-model coupe on rims with a thunderous sound system, he acknowledges that his car may make him an easy target for the police.

"I'm seriously considering getting a Toyota Camry or a Volvo as a car just to do dirt in," he said.

Frank insists that precaution, not luck, has kept him from getting caught. He talks only on prepaid cell phones and uses aliases at his address.

Still, the money is worth the paranoia to Frank. While he spends much of his money on flashy designer apparel, expensive liquor and buying drinks for girls at bars, he has managed to save some. He aspires to use his savings toward starting a legitimate business, but does not know what type of business it will be. Despite his lawful career objectives, he is doubtful that he will get out of the game anytime soon.

"In this business, the things you work for are connections and capital. I did the petty stuff for so long, and the rewards just get greater. I know I can drop it, but it's too easy now."