Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette)

Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette)[i]

As a non-smoker, I reserve the right to be as obnoxious as possible to anyone within twenty feet of me who has the courage to light up a cigarette.  In my opinion, tobacco smoke ranks right up there with fresh skunk spray on the odious meter, with the added nuisance that it (tobacco) activates and irritates every cell in my entire respiratory system.

(Well, okay.  It’s not that bad.  But I think I got my point across, even if I exaggerated to the point of ridiculousness.)

This all started in my childhood.  Both of my parents smoked.  When they were both in the living room, enjoying their Lucky Strikes and Camels, I had to go into the dining room to escape.  Sometimes I suspect that they lit up just to get their most troublesome kid out of the room.  I hope I am wrong about that part, but I won’t count on it.

On the university campus where I work, smoking is prohibited in all of the buildings.  Outside, though, all bets are off.  There is a rule that nobody is supposed to smoke within 50 feet of any of the buildings, but nobody pays attention.  It is normal to be greeted with a cloud of nicotine the minute you open the front door and step outside.

No spot on our beautiful campus is safe.  Let’s say, just for the purpose of this little dissertation, that I am sitting outside on my lunch hour.  It is a beautiful day.  There is a nice semi-circular bench where a person can sit and get a nice dose of sunshine and maybe a fresh breeze.  I am sitting there with my eyes closed, serene in the temporary Nirvana of ultraviolet rays and a cool breeze on my face.

Something begins to touch the cells of my nose, one by one.  Slowly, it travels up my nose and into my brain, which identifies it as the familiar essence of cancer weed.  I open my eyes and look for the source of the odor.  There he is:  a bearded, scruffy looking student.  He is holding his cell phone to one ear, having a lively conversation in some language that I don’t recognize.  In his other hand, which is down by his side, he is dangling a lit cigarette.

He is just dangling the thing, while a wavy line of smoke rises from it, is attracted to me like a magnet, and heads right for my nose.  He takes a puff about once every three to five minutes.

My mother always taught me that if you ignore people who bug you they’ll quit and go away.  On the hope that such a tactic will work here, I cover up my nose with part of my coat, close my eyes again and try to find the cool breeze I was enjoying when I was so rudely interrupted.  It doesn’t work.  The smoke sneaks in under the cloth, and the guy doesn’t move, except to walk to another part of the bench and sit down.

I start to fantasize.  I am being tried for murdering this guy and leaving him with a whole pack of his own cigarettes stuffed in his mouth.  I am confident, because I am sure that no jury will convict me.  I turn to the jury box, and all of the jurors are smoking!

Some day I’ll figure out why I can never form a fantasy about myself that actually turns out to my advantage.

Finally, the scruffy student’s cigarette burns out and … oh blessed day! … he doesn’t light up another one.  I get a little bit of peace and fresh air before returning to work.


[i] Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette), written by Merle Travis and Tex Williams, first recorded in 1947.

 

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2 thoughts on “Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette)”

  1. I hate smoke as well, but I don’t think those who take it outside should be banned. There is just so much ostracizing we can do. Hopefully, eventually they can all kick the habit.

    1. There was talk of bringing it up for a vote in the council here on campus to have smoking banned everywhere within the campus walls. As you can imagine, that didn’t get very far.

      I can see your point about being understanding of those smokers who take it outside. On this campus, they have no choice BUT to take it outside, though, and if I have picked out a nice, beautiful spot and I was there first, I shouldn’t be the one to have to move.

      Barnard College, which is right across the street from us, has a smoke-free campus. Of course, their campus isn’t that big, and Barnard students are often over here for classes, anyway, so they can always smoke here.

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