Do you need to borrow a cigarette? There are few favors so endearing. I know I won't get it back. I know how expensive these things are. But good Lord, man—I couldn't bear to see you without one. I mean, Christ—if we weren't smoking, how on Earth would we punctuate our sentences?
"If you aren't hungry, it'll give you an appetite." Christopher Hitchens once said, just a few years before cancer took his life. "If you are hungry, and there isn't any food in the immediate future, you can dull your pain of hunger. It wakes you up if you're tired, it makes you sleepy if you're not tired. It's the perfect self-administered micro-drug, a little glowing friend that never lets you down."
Little glowing friend. I don't think there's a better way to describe the human/tobacco relationship. Public health information rightly places the focus on the dramatic side-effects, but this can lead non-smokers to wonder why anyone would take up the habit in the first place.
"For a bit it was about looking cool while you're smoking, but that wore off soon," says Joseph, a former server and bartender. "It became a social tool to start conversations. I've gotten into some really interesting conversations simply by asking for a light."
There's also that lovely comradery that reminds us working class divisions are illusory. "Particularly as a waiter — even your managers smoke cigarettes."
Cigarettes Aren't just Addictive, They're DelightfulNon-smokers like to think they aren't missing anything, but nicotine is a mild cognitive enhancer with demonstrated benefits to concentration and focus—to say nothing of the social benefits:
"I remember the routine working as a waiter. When I got to work, if I got there early, there would be a bartender there, who'd offer to go smoke a cigarette with me. So it starts off at 9:30 in the morning, if I hadn't smoked already on the drive up there. After setting up the restaurant, there would be a designated time where all the smokers could go out together, before getting their first table. That was incredibly social--everybody got caught up on the most recent gossip. Jokes were made, plans for the rest of the day were brought up."Indeed, what would a social event be without the gaggle of hackers standing around alleyways, porches, and back rooms; shooting the shit with all the effortless cool afforded by a deadly habit whose only remaining associations are with criminals, artists, and other alternatives. Self-preservation is so damn predictable.
It's true: that little glowing friend is the life of the party, much like her cousin alcohol. Unlike alcohol, however, she won't tire you out or insist on pushing you too far. She doesn't ever ask you to bare your ass in public or go punch that guy at the end of the bar. No, she's more than happy to accompany you for a cup of coffee or stroll through the park. Were you in the mood to bare your ass in public or punch strangers, however, she's down for that too.
Any Reason Is A Brilliant Reason To Die EarlyMost seasoned smokers talk about quitting, but then again, it's the anti-smokers that seem to keep us wheezing. I've quit four times now (or once, depending on how generously you define your accomplishments). The hardest part? Resisting the urge to smoke out of spite after watching one of those condescending adverts featuring a cast of suspiciously multicultural suburban teens.
"Any reason is a brilliant reason not to smoke!" they say.
Any reason? So there's no one particularly important reason for one to avoid cigarettes? I mean, shit—I can think of only one: they fucking kill you (though for some of us, that's more of a bonus than a drawback).
I suppose there's also the dulling of taste buds, but I'd gladly sacrifice a little sensitivity for that precious after-dinner smoke. Oh, and don't bother complaining about the god-awful stench. You get used to smelling like shit eventually. It took London's Great Stink (during which the summer heat cooked the human feces and industrial solvents dumped into the river Thames) before the people of that city seemed to realize "Oh, damn. Poop stinks, and we just throw this stuff wherever." This is all to say that if all the world smoked, the smell would be a bother to no one but asthmatics, space aliens, and the occasional asthmatic space alien.
But the world doesn't smoke. Not in the West. Not anymore. They've dumped lady nicotine and taken out a restraining order. What good is a bar or pub if I can't enjoy that lovely synergy between alcohol and tobacco? Where did all the goddamn ashtrays go?
"Smoking, to me, is one of life's simple pleasures, even if it contributes to a painful end" writes Robert L. Franklin, a colleague of mine working for Liberal America.
"There are few things in life more pleasurable than a cigarette, a scotch, and a good conversation. I love the taste. I love the smell, especially when it lingers indoors. It's nostalgic to me — my grandfather was a smoker. It reminds me of him. You know, I'm one of those people who has no desire to quit. Sure, it would be better for me to do so, what with the health problems that come with it, but the idea of quitting just doesn't seem right. I've done so many amazing things in my life. I've had so many adventures and accumulated so many stories. I've always had a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo with me. I wouldn't feel whole without them."One wishes not to romanticize the habit in the presence of the impressionable. When teens smoke, they're as awkward about it as they are with everything else. I remember sitting outside a cafe one afternoon, grinding out copy and burning through a pack of mentholated cigarettes (because I don't just taunt the reaper, I invite him in for tea and a game of Scrabble). There were a suspicious amount of people coughing around me while making furrowed, judgmental eye-contact. I figured they all had some kind of disease of the ass and kept working. I had some coffee and a big sandwich in front of me.
A teen approached my table and asked for a light. He looked too young so I denied him my lighter. I thought the exchange was perfectly pleasant, but his attitude shifted when his friends caught up to him. "Bro, I am so hungry." He said. "Can I have a bite of your sandwich?" Now he was trying to mess with me—saying and doing those weird things suburban ruffians do to make people shuffle uncomfortably.
"You know what," I said, "Go ahead." Suddenly it seemed like he didn't know what to do. After looking at me, then back to the sandwich, then at me, then at his friends, then back to the sandwich, he decided to go for it—slowly, as I watched, being sure to maintain eye-contact, he bit off a small chunk of bread, chewed, and swallowed. After a silence that can only be described as a duel between two masters of awkward tension, he sheepishly said "thanks" and shuffled away with his crew of snap-back wearing, Swisher Sweet-without-weed smoking wannabes.
That was different, I remember thinking, popping another cigarette in my mouth. Oh shit. Where's my lighter?