Dairy of a smoker
"I lit a cigarette and was enjoying myself
when the woman seated twelve feet away, on the other side of the bench
began waving her hands before her face. I thought she was fighting off a bee.
She fussed at the air and called out
"Excuse me, do you mind if we make this a no-smoking bench?"
I don't know where to begin with a statement like that. "Do you mind if we make this a no-smoking bench?"
There was no "we". Our votes automatically cancel one another out.
What she meant was, "Do you mind if I make this a no-smoking bench."
I could understand if we were in an elevator or locked together in the trunk of a car, but this was outdoors.
Who did she think she was? This woman was wearing a pair of sandals, which are always a sure sign of trouble.
They looked like the sort of shoes Moses might have worn while he chisled regulation onto stone tablets.
I looked at her sandals and at her rapidly moving arms and I crushed my cigarette. I acted like it was no problem and then I stared at the pages of my book, hating her and Moses- The two of them.
The trouble with agressive nonsmokers is that they feel they are doing you a favor by not allowing you to smoke.
They seem to think that one day you'll look back and thank them for those precious fifteen seconds they just added to your life.
What they don't understand is that those are just fifteen more seconds you can spend hating their guts and plotting revenge.
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When the doctor finially came he looked over my chart and said: "Hey. we have almost the exact same birthday! I'm one day older than you!"
That did wonders for my morale. It never occurred to me that my doctor could be younger than me. Never entered my mind.
He started in by asking a few preliminary questions and then said, "Do you smoke?"
"Only cigarettes and pot," I answered.
He gave me a look. "Only cigareetes and pot? Only?"
"Not crack," I said. "Never touch the stuff. Cigars either. Terrible habbit, nasty."
I was at