One Polite Smoker Takes On the Zealots
I know my habit is an unhealthy one. But if I'm obeying the rules, it's none of your business.
By Judy Law
Newsweek
May 2 issue - In the '50s, my mother started smoking at the recommendation of her doctor. Cigarettes, he told her, would calm her nerves and cure constipation. My father picked up the habit in World War II. I hated my parents' smoking and swore I'd never do something so disgusting.
In college I finally grasped how necessary smoking was. It was a time when brilliant, brooding professors lectured while holding unfiltered cigarettes in stained fingers, when girls wearing cashmere sweater sets gestured gracefully with extra-longs, when handsome fraternity boys clutched a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I wanted to know what they all knew, and for sure, I wanted one of those boys. So I practiced smoking, fighting through the phlegm-inducing learning process until I could inhale with cool perfection.
Although this new talent didn't make me broody or brilliant, did nothing for my wardrobe and didn't land me a fraternity boy, I discovered several side benefits: Smoking at parties gave me something to do besides stand around in mute discomfort. It made an excellent companion to drinking beer, another collegiate skill I acquired. Plus, the ability to hold toxic fumes in my lungs gave me a head start when it came to smoking dope at anti-war protests once I graduated.
When I finally decided to quit, I couldn't because smoking had carved deep, needy troughs in my brain. Over the years I've gone to countless cessation programs, psychiatric counseling, and group and individual hypnosis sessions. I've used every prescription drug, patch and inhaler. Without cigarettes as a constant companion, I plunge into an unrelieved state of despair and become a nonproductive harridan.
I got myself into this mess and, therefore, I accept my status as an addict and a pariah. But I'm also profoundly ticked off.
Let me make a few things clear. I believe that the men who ran the tobacco companies were evil because they lied about poison for profit. I believe that smoking cigarettes can make people sick and even cause death. I believe that kids should never take that first drag and that people who can quit should. Cigarette smoke is noxious in close quarters. (As I write this, my best friend is visiting for a week. She's also a smoker, as is my husband. In order to take deep breaths of clean air, we have to go outside in the rain.) It makes sense that smokers are confined to separate quarters in restaurants and bars or herded outside to parking lots and alleys.
That said, I want self-righteous anti-smoking zealots off my back.
Case in point: I'd stopped after an hourlong bike ride at my favorite cafe at the top of one of Seattle's hills. Single tall latte in hand, I went outside. It was midafternoon and I sat by myself at a sidewalk table. Inside, against the rear wall, a solitary patron hunched over a pile of food. He glared at me through the plate glass as I lit my cigarette, so I turned away.
Moments later, he stood inches from me, apoplectic. "What would you do if I spit in your face?"
"What?" I'd heard exactly what he said but I just didn't get it.
"Your smoke completely ruined my lunch. I'm nauseated. Put out that cigarette or I will spit in your face."
Still flummoxed, I said, "But the door's closed. The windows don't even open. You couldn't possibly have been bothered by my smoke."
He'd sucked up some saliva, his lips tightly puckered. Had he been formidable, I might have followed his order. But he was small and slope-shouldered, so I stood and looked down at him. With 20 minutes' lead time, I could have come up with a brilliant retort. The best I could do under immediate pressure was to ready my latte cup for a counterattack and say, "Don't you dare."
The standoff lasted a few tense seconds before he muttered "B----," and walked away.
Although this was an extreme incident, smokers are considered legitimate targets for crusading health goons. Some of them simply stare with contempt. Some walk past in wide, fearful swoops as if to avoid instant emphysema. I'm a rule-abiding smoker. In my experience, most of us are, and most nonsmokers are able to comfortably occupy the planet with us. Perhaps anti-smoking zealots—and, I suspect, zealots of any type—were bullied as children or lead boring lives or just have a mean streak. Whatever their reasons, I'd like for them to listen up because I intend to set their minds at ease. I promise I will never use smoke as a weapon to cut their lives short if they, in turn, swear to put their excess energy somewhere else. I respectfully suggest they collect discarded beer cans from the beach or rescue stray animals or gather blankets for the homeless or teach kids to read. Deal?
Law lives on Vashon Island, Wash.
© 2005 Newsweek, Inc.