Smoking Rules

I don’t know why this little exchange has got me fuming.

I went downstairs for a little smoke break. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know all the reasons in the world why I shouldn’t be smoking in the first place. But I am. Deal. I’ll quit again someday. Probably someday soon. But in the meantime, I’m smoking.

So I’m standing outside the building, looking at the nice plaza. They’ve recently put up a new memorial for the Marsh people that were lost in 9-11 and I stepped out from under the canopy to get a better look.

“Excuse me, buddy,” says this big guy with a build like Ms. Spears’ bodyguard. Black slacks, black golf shirt, big belly hanging over his belt. “If you’re gonna smoke, I need to stay under the canopy.” He nods, turned and walked away, revealing “SECURITY” in big block letters across his back. Where am I, at a concert?

“No problem,” was my filtered response. I inhaled, stepped a foot closer to the building and blew smoke into to the non-canopied air. Mature, eh?

I’m outside for fuck’s sake. No one’s around me. I’m a good 15 feet away from any seating areas. It’s not like there’s some high-tech force field that’s separating the good oxygen from the evil carbon monoxide. And if you're going to establish a "smoking area" then at least put the ashtrays inside the area, not in the deciggafied zone between the canopy and the hallowed fresh-air plaza. How smart do you have to be to figure that out?

It’s like when there were designated smoking areas in restaurants, say at the bar, but there were “non-smoking” tables two feet away. What was the point of that?

Light. Inhale. Hold. Release. *cough* Repeat.

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And on a lighter note (okay, I'll stop), Larry came up with the uncharacteristically non-frugal idea go to Ptown for Labor Day, despite the fact our place is rented. I wholeheartedly endorse the decision.

We're booked at Land's End. Woo hooooooooooo.