AUC: Smoke, and the whole world coughs with you

[Originally published in the Long Beach Union (student paper at Long Beach State), in my bi-weekly column called...]
Another Useless Column

I have to share a conversation I overheard the other day. Returning to work from lunch, I came in just behind two women who had been outside on a smoke break. One, approaching middle age, was telling birth stories to the other, clearly younger, woman, who listened with the earnestness of one who has never been pregnant.

As we climbed the stairs to the second floor, the older woman noted that she was lighting up virtually the minute she was out of the delivery room.

The most difficult part of childbirth, apparently, had been going hours without a cigarette.
At the top of the stairs, they walked in the opposite direction from me, but before they were too far away, I heard the younger woman say she might have to have an abortion if pregnancy meant nine months of tobacco abstinence.

Now, you reaction to that may have been: “What a horrible thing to even joke about!” Or you may have thought, “Yeah, nine months without a smoke, that’s rough.” Or you may still be reeling from seeing Al Gore do the Macarena, and can’t concentrate.

Whatever your opinion, like abortion, you believe it strongly.

Me? I say, hey, it’s a free country. Well, sort of.

For the record, I don’t smoke. Never have. My mother smokes, as do many of my friends. Children of parents who smoke tend to either become smokers themselves or ardent anti-smokers. I fall into the latter category, but the interesting thing is that I find I am only bothered by strangers who smoke. I’m not crazy about the fact that my mother smokes, but when I’m around her, she’s not a smoker, she’s just Mom.

Hypocritical? Of course. But we can overlook unpleasant habits in our acquaintances. We’re aware of at least some redeeming aspect they possess. That stranger whose cigarette smoke wafts too close is just an inconsiderate asshole.

I think it’s important to draw a distinction between people who smoke and smokers. The former are people who engage in inhaling the fumes of burnt tobacco (and nicotine, etc.). The latter are people for whom this practice is their defining characteristic. Think what you will about the younger woman in the aforementioned exchange, but at least she knows better than to get pregnant.

A certain camaraderie exists amongst smokers. Perhaps they bond as members of a persecuted group. Maybe it’s the fact that one can tell at a glance, “Hey, there’s someone else who’s choosing to do horrible things to their lungs.” It’s a support group kind of thing: a smoker isn’t going to give a fellow smoker a hard time.

Yes, smoking’s bad, yadda yadda yadda. But we should all exercise more. We shouldn’t eat so much fried food. Hell, we should escape this smog-infested armpit of the world if we’re really concerned about our health.

In a way, smokers have an advantage that we non‑smokers don’t: someday, when they get cancer, they’ll know exactly why, and they will have had years of nicotine-enriched pleasure getting it. When we non‑smokers come down with terrible illnesses, we won’t know who to blame. Smokers can look to the tobacco industry and the beautifully evil people who run it and say, “Thank you, it’s all your fault.”

The clever demons who produce cigarettes have made their product terrifically addictive. Despicable, yes, but perversely admirable in a business sense.

However, this just keeps the customer coming back. What makes someone start? Who knows for sure. Peer pressure? Advertising? I have to wonder, “Could the most amazing ads sway people to subject themselves to something so clearly bad if they didn’t have a predilection for it in the first place?”

Anyone influenced by cigarette ads gets what they deserve. Have some self-esteem, take some responsibility. Be young, have fun, drink Pepsi. Hey, wait a second…