Smoking

Growing up, I never imagined that I'd be a smoker. Both my parents smoked when I was younger, and I hated it. Smoking was glamorous like it is in the movies--it was messy and smelly. The idea of being addicted to something (other than Pepsi) was also very repugnant to me.

The thought of "trying" it out never occurred to me, until one night while I was at work. Now, this was back in my security guard days (of course, everything terrible is from this period in my life). I had to relieve the guard who was working in the guard booth, who was a notorious smoker.

Actually, come to think of it, all of the guys smoked.

UH-OH! Peer pressure!

When I got to the booth, I caught my fellow guard sleeping. Well, to tell you the truth, I scared the shit out of him. He jumped about ten feet in the air when I knocked on the door. It was pretty funny because he was about 65 years old. He tried to play it off like he wasn't sleeping (the cardinal sin of guarding) so I played along and said nothing. In in his haste to get back inside (because it was cold and because he was embarrassed I caught him sleeping) he forgot some of his things.

One of the things he forgot was his newspaper. The other was a single cigar.

I found it an hour later while I was reading the papers (i.e. the funnies). It was wrapped in plastic, but it still smelled fantastic. When I'd worked at Walgreen's I'd loved the tobacco aisle where we kept all the cigars and pipe tobacco. The smells were all so colorful and delicious. Of course, I knew if I put a flame to the cigar it would go from smelling like exotic spices to odor of cat turds.

Still, the smell was intoxicating. I put the cigar in my pocket and forgot all about it--until I got home. Since I worked the graveyard shift, everyone in my family was gone or going when I got home. An hour after everyone had left I crept upstairs to my parent's room and scrounged up a lighter from my father's sock drawer (yes, that's where he used to keep spare lighters).

I went out onto the back porch and unwrapped the cigar, feeling like an outlaw. Tossing the wrapping aside, I put one end in my mouth and lit the other end (this was a cheap cigar, no need to cut the end off). To my surprise, the smoke didn't smell all that bad. I took a few puffs then stomped the thing out.

Smoking was overrated, I thought.

A few nights later I got in a fight with my folks (which was common in those days) and on my way to work I decided to buy a pack of smokes. It was kind of a "I'll show them! I'll slowly develop lung cancer!" As immature as that sounds, it's probably the best reason to start smoking. I puffed on a cigarette on the way to work and again on my lunch break. For some reason I just didn't get why people smoked. I mean it wasn't really all that great, just smelly and expensive.

I decided to try one more on the way home. With one hand on the wheel, I lit a cigarette (a Camel by the way) and stuck it to my lips. I was about to take a puff when I hit one of Kansas City's world-famous potholes. The sudden jolt interrupted my puff and I inhaled (for the first time) by accident.

Suddenly, my head my swimming and I knew why people smoked! I'd been doing it wrong! It took me a few attempts to replicated my inhale, but once I figured it out I became a smoking fiend.

Eventually I made a few attempts to quit, but it wasn't until I got married that I was able to quit for good.