Smoking is Gay - 1. Smoking is Gay

“Would you mind not smoking here?” said the man who was seated next to me and who did not even bother to lower the newspaper from which his probably upset face is scoffing at the newly exhaled smell of tobacco.

He has the nerve to ask me that? Does he own the park? The bench we’re sitting on? The air we’re breathing? Did he pay for a fee that gave him the right or the privilege to ask me what to or not to do? I really wanted to roll up that cheap newspaper and smack his head with a smug grin on my face. Can he not understand how difficult that question is for me?

No, he can’t understand because he isn’t like me. He probably doesn’t smoke. He has probably never touched a cigarette in his life other than to throw away someone else’s. He’s probably been told as well while he grew up that second hand smoke will kill him. Yes, if I breathed down his throat maybe, but I was certainly more courteous than that (although the thought crossed my mind briefly at his question).

He might even be one of those activists that would say lung cancer is God’s punishment to smokers.

Ok, perhaps not that extreme but one can never be too sure nowadays. Are there even any people like that nowadays?

One thing is certain from his annoying little question though. He does not understand that smoking is part of me. I may not have realized it early on when I was, what, five years old? Even then I was told (and believed) that smoking was bad. But when I eventually saw that older punk kid puff his smoggy breath into the air and the wind conspired to blow all that molten ash into my face and my friends, I knew then and understood. While my friends coughed and shot dirty looks at nature’s pimped out enemy, I breathed it in like a Chinese restaurant chef starved for fresh air. Right then knew I was different. I was like him, not them. I was one of those people.

My friends couldn’t understand my fascination with it when it became obvious that I leaned towards that way of life. They simply could not comprehend my desire for a stick – a three inch rolled up piece of paper with dried leaves inside that promised bliss and pleasure (for as long as three inches lasted). They could not and would not understand that when I put that stick in my mouth, it was not disgusting. It was pleasure. No, that would be an understatement – each pleasure stick bordered on erotic.

I don’t even mind sharing sticks with other people. They can suck on it all they want as long as they leave the last few puffs of pleasure for me.

The experience though with each stick regardless of where it came from was the same. When my lips part in anticipation of first contact with the butt of a cigarette, it is not fear I feel. I do not go about my life thinking what disease I will develop next with each stick I put in my mouth. I admit there are risks to “my lifestyle choice” as they called it but to hell with the risks. What’s the point of denying something part of me? It’s none of their business if my teeth turn yellow. It’s none of their business if I can’t run five miles to save my live. It’s none of their business if I smell like charred meat. As the great philosophers Descartes said I stink therefore I am. I’m pretty sure he said that and if he did then it must be true and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

But no, non-smokers see only what they want to see. What they notice only is the ugly cloud of death that permeates their perfectly clean world each time I exhale. It was as though my very existence gave them displeasure. I became a risk to their health and a bad influence to their children.

In truth, there is more to smoking than just that. What non-smokers refuse to see or feel is what I experience with each deep breath. Breathing is relaxing right? That’s all I’m doing really, breathing. Breathing is part of me and if I stop breathing, I cease to exist. It just so happens that I breathe things in a little differently than they do. Does that make me bad? I don’t think so.

On an entirely philosophical level beyond the understanding of people who refuse to see the point (and thus consequently cannot understand the point), smokers like myself exhale more than just dust, ash, and toxic fumes (not fully proven by the way). That thing is only good for killing you they would tell me. I must disagree. Smoke that non-smokers have concluded as being bad in fact takes away more than just a few years off my life. It also takes away the stress of today, the worries of tomorrow. My mind conspires to develop my own little world for even a few moments when nothing else mattered but me and the stick in my mouth with each suck of breath like an explosion that starts in my mouth and makes its warm way down my throat. Selfish yes, but really, who can’t behave a little selfishly to be happy every once in awhile. Aren’t we all here in the pursuit of happiness? Why live an unhappy long life when you can have a short blissful one with the thing you love? I’m sure most romantics would agree with me.

But does that mean I can’t smoke around those who don’t just because they don’t like it. Does that mean I have to stick to my own kind like a herd of diseased cattle? Does that mean I can’t be myself in public because my alternative lifestyle displeases the majority? Should I be confined to “pocket gardens” and mingle only with those who by every reasonable argument is exactly the same as everyone else except for one single human preference?

No, that is not fair. That is injustice I say. If you don’t like it, you can shove it. There is no need to thank me for not smoking here like all those signs would say. I’d rather be happy being me than be thanked for someone I’m not.

“Sure” I told him as I promptly put out my cigarette and threw it into the trash can beside us.

What can I say? I’m a nice guy.