Docile Tree

I smoked in high school. Just for a year. Peer pressure really, I wanted to be part of the “in” crowd. It didn’t work. The people I tried to be “in” with turned out to be complete and utter losers. Not because of the smoking, well, perhaps because of the smoking, but I wouldn’t attribute just the smoking. High school social myopia I think. From a distance they look cool, but once you’re there, it’s really not that much fun. Besides that, I didn’t like smoking. It was that during-and-after-taste you see. I constantly had this need to get rid of whatever saliva I had at the time.

In more recent times though, every year or so I would have a cigarette, all by my lonesome, to see if I still don’t like it. Each time, I end up wasting a different pack of smokes. In high school, I used to smoke Benson & Hedges Special Mild, the gold pack. I even had a bit of a dabble with some menthol smokes at the time, to improve the taste. Every time I tried to smoke more recently, it would be a different brand, in case I find one I didn’t dislike. I tried B&H again, nope. I snuck some of the wife’s girly Vogue Slims, haha, that was funny. I then tried Camel Lights. Unsuccessful. Each time I would have a single smoke, finish it, and toss the rest.

Fast Forward to 3-or-so weeks ago. While purchasing smokes for the wife, I noticed some cigarette brands now had 10-packs. I thought it would be less of a waste if I didn’t like it this time, so the next day I buy a nice lighter with fancy tribal insignia on the side (You gotta look cool when lighting that smoke you know.), and a 10-pack of Peter Stuyvessant Ultra Mild (The blue pack). And the obligatory smoker’s fresh minty chewing gum. (Gum of choice was the red Airwaves.) The first smoke I have, was in the car on the way to a department lunch. I was not prepared for that drive.

My heart was racing. My senses seemed heightened. The music in the car sounded louder. The head rush. Whoa boy, the head rush was, well, a rush. I rolled the smoke in my fingers, very concious of the ash at the end of it. Must. Flick. Ash. I wasn’t prepared for all of that, and I wasn’t prepared for what the hell to do with the bloody burning stompie that needed to be put out somewhere. I won’t throw it out the window, this is Cape Town after all. I couldn’t put it in the ashtray, there are coins in there. Panicked, I eventually found (while still driving), an old paper bag which had it’s previous occupant scoffed down between shop and office a long time ago. I squashed the smoke out in the paper bag folded over about 4 times, the heat still burnt me a bit right through it.

Even though I wasn’t really prepared for those 5 minutes of smoking, I was half expecting them. What I really wasn’t prepared for at all, was the social response to my smoking. One colleague explained “No siss, if you don’t smoke already, you shouldn’t start. It’s an ugly habit.”. Another colleague was more direct with a “Can I bum a smoke there please?”. All this during the post-lunch-pre-dessert smoke outside. Then, a week later, another colleague’s response was “You smoke? Awesome.”

It’s important to know that all of this was going on without anybody at home knowing. I had a smoke while taking the shopping to the car one Saturday afternoon while the wife and kids go for a milkshake (and she have her smoke in the smoking section). I snuck a smoke on the way to the pizza shop, each time popping the minty gum. Chew-chew-chew. When I eventually came clean 2 weeks after the first smoke, only having smoke a total of about 6 smokes, I was faced with yet another unexpected response… “You what?! I have to tell my mother, she’s going to can herself… haha!”.

I haven’t had a smoke since. Not for any particular reason other than I still don’t bloody like it. It’s always been, and will always be, an “in” thing for me. And you know what? I couldn’t be bothered anymore. Smoking is for smokers. People that don’t mind having their spit taste like crap, that don’t mind having a head rush of note that makes them fumble for their keys when getting in or out of the car, that don’t mind having a constant need to hock-a-loogy behind the metal ashtray outside the office building, and that don’t mind actually getting addicted to this drug, whatever the consequences, financial, social, health or otherwise.

Smoking is definitely not for me. And you know what? The social response to me not smoking anymore, after a brief stint of smoking, is not anything unexpected. There was no response. People don’t care if other people smoke or not. Especially other smokers. Well, to be fair, let’s face it, other smokers are a source of free smokes and people to gossip with around the car park or designated smoking area at the edge of the building. OK, that’s not 100% correct. Non-smokers care very much about how, when, what, where and how far from the entrance of a public building, smokers are allowed to smoke. I sympathise on both sides, on the one hand, having a bunch of smokers converge on the front of your office building just looks bloody untidy and unprofessional, but on the other hand, the poor addicted smoker needs to feed that habit.

Me? I don’t care. I used to dislike being in a room full of smokers, but not so much anymore. If I smoked at home, I’d still smoke outside though, it saves the house from the ugly smell, and saves the kids a bit from the second-hand smoke. What I do care about is that 30 to 60 extra minutes smokers get out of any given company by going for smoke breaks a million times a day. Oi, smokers! Get back to work!