Full of Smoke

            My friends are idiots, but so am I.  They presented their genius plan to me one day.  They told me that they were all going to start carrying cigarettes.  Not to smoke but, to be ready if a girl walked up to them in a bar asking for one.  Four of my oldest friends formed the coalition.  I suppose they had been unprepared in this situation before and reasoned that if they were prepared they would be more appealing.  Whatever the reason that was the plan presented to me.  They were proud of the plan too.  As if it would change those disappointing social moments when a girl turns her back.  I know they were out to get laid, but how would cigarettes help?

            All four of them smoke now, and so do I.  I did not start for the same reason as them.  I still make fun of them for the plan that led them to begin ritually filling their longs with smoke.  I laugh even harder listening to them fight over who owes who cigarettes.

            I have seen the logic in the plan since first hearing it.  Smoking certainly promotes social interaction.  Usually when I run out of cigarettes, I try to avoid buying a pack by bumming from strangers.  I can always get one from someone outside of work.  All of the quarter rats smoke, though I think twice before bumming from them.  One day I shared a joint with a dishwasher from Montrel’s.  I still see him regularly, and we always take the time to say hello and exchange a few questions.  How’s your baby?  I might ask him. How’s college, college boy?  He might jest.  I don’t think he holds any true resentment against me.  After all I have given him enough cigarettes to make up about three packs since we met, though I’ve never minded sharing.

            My favorite part of bumming cigarettes is interacting with total strangers.  Some people will tell you no or hand you one and turn away, but most stay and converse at least as long as their cigarette last.  One day I asked a nice lady in scrubs for one.  She said I don’t know if you want one of these.  She then handed me one of those long bastards.  It must have been a Virginia Slim.  I found out that she was an in home nurse with a couple of patients in the quarter, or maybe she took care of an old couple.  I can’t remember now, but she was beyond friendly.  We talked for a while, as the cigarette determined the added length to the usual smokers’ interaction.  I still laugh every time I have an interaction with a fellow smoker.  I think about my four friends and their half-baked plan for interacting with the opposite sex.  It still makes me laugh.  I have basically adapted the plan myself though mine is not gender or age specific, and the aim is not sex but conversation.  I simply enjoy the short interactions; smokers are truly a friendly bunch for the most part.  Sometimes I get the since that someone is lying to me about just smoking their last one, but that is their right.  The next person will have one, and from my experience share a few kind words.