almost okay

Smoking and Drinking Pt. 1

I was sitting at the end of the bar in The Bar soaking up air conditioning, watching the Tigers and minding my own business. It was another Monday and the place was comfortably populated with folks drinking solo and in pairs at intervals the full length of the bar, with many empty seats in between. I could have done with even fewer fellow humans, but I was getting by okay.

About half way into my second pint of Great Lakes Pilsner, a guy walked in and sat two seats to my right. I could smell the cologne on him. He was wearing a pressed blue dress shirt and a navy print tie, black slacks, an expensive watch with a leather strap. He had short jet-black hair and dark skin, and looked like he could have been Pakistani or Indian to me. But what do I know? Fay came over and he ordered a Bell's Oberon, checked his cell phone. He had one of those fancy ones with all the buttons and a little keyboard so he could be on the Internet anytime, anywhere, a little stylus for pushing the buttons cached in a pocket to the side. They serve the Oberon there with an orange slice on the rim of the glass and when Blue Shirt's beer arrived he delicately picked up the slice and dropped it into the foam, then asked Fay for a book of matches before getting back to his cell. A minute later he pulled out a yellow pack of smokes and lit one up.

Now, I didn't make a fuss at this point. I'm in a bar and I understand the hazards involved in this backward thinking state of Michigan where smoking still isn't banned in eating and drinking establishments. But the smoke-eater was located on the wall to my left and was drawing the evil, curling, shit-smell, fag spew right across and under my nose. The worst part was that Blue Shirt was one of those guys who thinks it's cool just to have one lit, and his cigarette spent a lot more time in the ash tray than it did in his hand. I was choking on second-hand smoke by the time he got up and headed for the can, leaving half a pint and half a butt burning away beside me.

I watched the butt burn down close to the filter as my blood pressure rose steadily and Blue Shirt stayed in the can. Finally thinking that maybe the dumb ass left, I was just about to reach over and put the fucking thing out myself when Blue Shirt returned. I looked him in the eye as he approached and he shot me shifty glances back. Before he could even sit down I said to him: “Those things aren't fucking incense you know,” and I looked right at the burning butt so he'd understand what I was talking about.

“No, it's a Chohnz,” he said. I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, still don't. I had no idea whether he was trying to explain that it was some Parisian brand or what, but that's what I heard him say. All I knew at the time was I'd had enough.

“Look it's obvious that I'm not smoking here,” I said with more than a little force.

“Oh. Sorry.” Blue Shirt looked at the burning fag and finally understood what I was talking about, picked it up and sucked the last of it through his lungs and I went back to watching the Tigers, which I hoped would distract me enough to keep from killing him.

Just last night I was at another bar listening to my jukebox selections when a young kid came in, plopped his ass right next to me and lit up a cigarette, took a tiny puff then dropped it in the ash tray. A couple minutes later he picked it up and dumped the ashes, held it for a while as he conversed with his friend, dumped the ashes again, set it down, took a drink of his Jack and Coke, then picked it up again before taking another puff. I was ready to go anyway, so I did. Isaac Hayes had just finished “I Stand Accused” and it was my last song.

A friendly word of advice to all you smokers out there, though, especially those of you who primarily smoke just while drinking... There are people who drink but DO NOT smoke! Not just me, lots of people. And the protocol of common courtesy when sitting next to somebody who is obviously NOT smoking, no matter WHERE the fuck you are, calls for you to ask said non-smoker: 'DO YOU MIND IF I SMOKE?'

End of discussion.

And by the way, I'd much prefer to sit next to some chain-smoker who's obviously in need of the nicotine and gets his money's worth out of each cigarette than one of you casual smoker fucks who still thinks it's cool to hold a lit fag in one hand and a drink in the other. Filter that goddamn smoke through YOUR fucking lungs, not MINE!