Quitting is for quitters
"The public health authorities never mention the main reason many Americans have for smoking heavily, which is that smoking is a fairly sure, fairly honorable form of suicide." - Kurt Vonnegut
Shawna Sweeney
My dirtiest secret is that I love to smoke cigarettes. I don’t advertise it too much because it is wildly unpopular, but I’ve loved it for years. There is a small, secret thrill to opening a new pack, peeling back the cellophane and foil, pulling out a fresh cigarette and burning it down.
My habit has been met with limited acceptance. My parents hate it, my nonsmoking friends can’t stand it and my bosses barely tolerate it.
I have endured a variety of guerilla campaigns designed to ‘help’ me quit. One boyfriend used to lock me on his balcony when I went outside to smoke. He would peer through the glass, make apish gestures and hoot to illustrate the monkey on my back. He was not my boyfriend for long.
Smokers today face a difficult challenge. They must rationalize and defend their habits in the face of staggering social pressure, sobering health warnings and soaring sin taxes. It is not an easy task.
The apologists lower their eyes and describe a far off date or event when they plan to quit. The time will come in one year, in five years, by the age of 25, by the age of 30, after finishing college, after switching jobs or before having kids. It will happen some day in the distant future when they won’t need it anymore.
I am not one of the apologists. I have no plans to quit, which always surprises people. I receive searching looks, wide-eyed stares or disapproving grunts. They check their watches to see if they have entered a time warp. Surely no one has uttered those words since 1964. It must be some kind of mistake.
I admit it is a gamble and sort of a crummy deal. You pay good money to smoke and in return you get an entry into the smoking statistic sweepstakes. The lucky grand prize winner receives cancer and the runners up receive emphysema and heart attacks. Nearly everyone goes home with a parting gift.
But there is something underneath the health warnings and statistics. There is something beyond the physical addiction and oral fixation. There are things the surveys and research can’t illustrate in living colour.
No one bothers to highlight the subtler joys of smoking. The instant bond of small talk formed with complete strangers. The intimacy of sharing a cigarette with a close friend. The first quiet smoke of the morning. The delicious double threat of coffee and cigarettes. The tactile enjoyment of holding a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The satisfying moment after a huge meal when you light up dessert.
I know these stolen moments could kill me someday, but I like to think that medical technology will catch up with cancer just about the time that my first malignant lump appears. I’ll be able to walk into the lab and choose a fresh new pair of shiny pink lungs right out of the vat. They might even make them out of my own DNA.
But even as science struggles to become science fiction, I know it’s a losing battle. The smoking population is in terminal decline. My brethren are falling all around me. Laws will become more aggressive and the restaurants and coffee shops that offer smoking sections will dwindle even further in number. The tax burdens, health issues and social pressures will all take a toxic toll until the very last smoker puts out the very last butt. It’s the inevitable end of an era, folks. Smoke ’em if you got ’em and enjoy it while you can.
