KateW decided to sponsor a contest for the most pitiful smoking stories-- the Nicky awards. This was a great moment for the quitnet, as we bared our darkest secrets. Winning entries included: KateW, who told of scraping out the contents of old wet butts, drying them out, rolling them in some sort of paper and smoking them; Ninety9 told of lighting up in the restroom of an airplane, frantically trying to prevent the smoke from reaching the smoke detector (it's probably just a bluff); Cheevers told of breaking an heirloom piggy bank, passed to her by her grandmother (a smoker) to obtain funds for a pack of smokes; Neb described a desperate, middle of the night drive of 50 miles for a cigarette; and I am pleased to say that I swept the most desperate lighting methods category, having lit cigarettes with water heater and furnace pilot lights, and a magnifying glass. I thought I also ranked on a par with Cheevers' story, which won the Nicky for Most Pitiful Way to Pay for Cigarettes. In a desperate effort to quit, I had stashed all my credit cards and cash in my spouse's car before she left for the office. This short-lived quitting effort ended when I stole money from my 3-year-old darlingdaughter's piggy bank. While stealing money from children to pay for addictions may be commonplace, I thought it was particularly pitiful that I have yet to pay her back; I neglected to add that point, and this may have cost me a chance at a second Nicky award.
More Pitiful Moments in Smoking (nostalgia for slug-butts and other delights)
I will always have vivid memories of the lengths I would go to meet my nicotine needs. As a closet smoker, the hardships were unusually cruel. At home, I needed an excuse to leave the house, and my most common excuse was the dog's need for walks, regardless of how bad the weather was. And being extra careful, I didn't want to stink up my gloves so I held the cigarette barehanded. Could wash the stink off the hands (well, with quite a lot of effort) but not the gloves. If it was 20 below, I would alternate hands or just hold it in my mouth. But with snow on the ground, it was hard to hide the ashes. So, I'd carry an empty beer can along as a handy portable ashtray. So very clever. Then I'd forget to rinse the butts out of it into the downstairs toilet and find it in my coat pocket, stinking to high heaven. Or, I'd forget to flush the butts and discover them at the end of the day and wonder if I'd been discovered and spouse wasn't saying anything. I kept that coat in the garage on an inaccessible hook and never wore it when I was going somewhere in the car with the family. And, scrubbing the stink off my hands and face 6 or 7 times a day did wonders for the skin, especially in winter.
Now, summer smoking wasn't nearly as challenging, although hiding a pack on your person is more difficult. I used to stash them under logs in the woods. Unfortunately, packs left under logs overnight were invariably covered with slugs and slugslime by morning. Like that imagery? Who else has smoked cigarettes with their filters covered with slugslime? As I've said before, I did it "my way". Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do, right?
Yep, those were the days. Now everyone here knows something about me that nobody else knows. Oh, by the way, only my closest friends can call me Sluglips.
Evil Acts
Part of the appeal of smoking was the feeling that I was getting away with something evil. Others seem to agree with this observation. Pardesi pointed out that this may account for the increase in smoking among teens while adult smoking is declining. Maybe we should attempt to find evil acts that are safe.
What might these be?
I think the defining feature is that the evil twin has to go for it in a big way.
Most evil activities come with risks. And because they are harmful risks, society has made them evil. Compulsive gambling? At least that's not physically harmful. You might consider petty thievery. Have you thought of becoming the neighborhood prankster? How about tipping over privies? The possibilities are there for risk-taking without carcinogenesis, but somehow they just don't seem the same as smoking. Then there's always the hang-gliding, bungeejumping, getting-shot-from-a-cannon thing, but that's so very "Californian" and not really very evil.
My Affair...
...with site #7 is over. Studying natural animal populations has some challenges that other scientists don't have to worry about, but at least we get to tell stories about them.
The study I'm doing involves collecting mosquito eggs in 29 sites ranging from NJ to GA, and bringing them back to the lab to hatch for experiments. My main concern is that my traps (plastic cups with water and slats of wood) will be tampered with, so I look for secluded spots that are not too far from the road, as I have to carry quite a bit of stuff to them to collect the eggs and prepare them for the next collection. Because I can't clear this with 29 landowners, I try to use forests that are either publicly owned or so far from civilization that it's unlikely that the landowner will ever notice my cups hanging on their trees. OK, so technically I am a litterer, a mosquito thief, and a trespasser. So shoot me.
Yesterday I visited Site #7 near Parsons, West Virginia. The site seemed perfect when I chose it last summer-- Monongahela National Forest land, not visible from the road, unlikely to be disturbed, and extremely scenic. The main problem seemed to be getting to some level ground, but after descending a steep drop from the road of maybe 25 ft, there's a nice little ledge of mature woods before the next steep descent, a sheer cliff with a river below. Nobody would ever go there, and the traps would be safe.
After negotiating the initial drop, and locating two of the 20 traps on the ledge, and wandering around aimlessly, I had trouble locating any more. The reason became clear when I noticed an ominous sign on one of the trees that had previously held a trap:
WARNING
LARGE STEEL LEG TRAPS, INCLUDING BEAR TRAPS, HAVE BEEN LAWFULLY SET ON THIS PRIVATE PROPERTY IN THIS AREA.
IF YOU HAVE GOTTEN THIS FAR, RETRACE YOUR STEPS IMMEDIATELY.
TRESPASSERS WHO HAVE NOT BEEN TRAPPED WILL BE SHOT.
Thoughts:
- Yikes.
- How can I retrace my steps when I've been wandering around aimlessly?
- Cigarette. Gotta have one, but don't
- Ol' Zeb Tater's a-bluffin.
- What possessed him to come here at all? It's miles from any house.
- What becomes of trespassers who have been trapped? Will I be captured and tortured before I can gnaw my leg off? That's what trapped foxes do, I've heard...
Figuring that I couldn't retrace my steps anyway, I decided to look around verrry carefully, heart a-poundin'. I found at least ten more of these signs posted on trees that had previously held a mosquito trap, and none of my traps could be found. Someone went to a lot of trouble just to scare the dickens out of me-- this place is not that easy to get to. And it wasn't your ordinary illiterate moonshiner, either-- laser-printed signs grammatically correct with perfect spelling, each sealed in plastic.
New traps have been installed on the other side of the road, and I'm sure this is national forest property-- at least, I think so...
Good thing I was not in possession of tobacco products, as this was a definite trigger situation. I claim no credit for resisting temptation.
I did get to see mountainsides covered with blooming rhododendrons, and today was treated to a double rainbow after winding my way down the cliffs of the Nantahala mountains in a thunderstorm. Seemed like a sufficient reward.
Now I'm in Clayton GA for the night in a dreadful motel. Lots of good ole boys out blowin off steam in their pickups. I don't fit in here.
Medical Breakthroughs (3)
OK. I've been a nonsmoker for 3 months. The floaties have dissipated, and I'm no longer worried about a brain tumor or Lou Gehrig's. There seems to be nothing seriously troubling to create medical unpleasantness. Time to go see a doctor, then. Never go to a doctor with a serious ailment, unless it's Dr. Kevorkian, I say. So, I had my first physical in 4 years yesterday, although there have been some medical misadventures with a specialist in the last year. I'll spare you those details. That's the first breakthrough.
I have always been a minimizer. Part of having nothing wrong with you is to admit to nothing wrong, and to cover up anything that someone might perceive as wrong. So, I've never admitted to the full extent of my smoking with physicians. Figured if they're so smart, they should be able to figure out the truth without my help. Indeed, to some I've denied it entirely. To others, I've been a moderate (5-10/day) or an occasional smoker. The extent of these lies depended on how much preparation I had done in advance of the visit (a few days with only a few per day usually cleared out the lungs a bit). Wouldn't want to get scolded, or pay smokers' rates for life insurance. Besides, I was always on the verge of quitting, and once I got that taken care of, the lies would become true. So it was sort of borrowing against the truth, with the intention of paying it back.
I was breaking in a new primary care physician again. The last one was always on vacation when I had any need for treatment, and took a new position since my first and only visit with her. The one before that I also saw only once before he moved on. This time, I'm telling the truth. It's a breakthrough for me, this truthfulness with a physician. Part of this new approach may have resulted from his extreme youth. My ice skates were last sharpened in the year he was born, I believe, maybe earlier. He seemed so harmless and nonthreatening. And I could honestly claim credit for being a nonsmoker. Nothing to hide. Go ahead, look and listen all you want, doc, I'm not lying this time. That's the second breakthrough. And I may be back again, in less than 4 years this time. And if you can hold a job, I might come back and see you.
OK. End of physical, and evil twin Winston was waiting in the car for me: "Got a light? Hey, c'mon, we always smoke after seeing the doctor." He was right. After all, each visit is usually preceded by at least a half-day's abstention, so post-doctor smoking became a highly gratifying habit even though it was only done every now and then. But it was a habit, nonetheless, and one that had not surfaced for me during the quit until yesterday. Winston said we should celebrate the apparent absence of smoking-related ailments with a few quick hump jrs., or maybe even Camel Straights, just like old times. Evil twin still hasn't found a life, and still comes by for visits with disturbing regularity. Fortunately, I had the keys. But I did come very close to pulling into the Pik 'n' Pay on the way back. Didn't. Third breakthrough: not smoking, even after a trip to the doctor's.
Quitly payoffs, and continuing challenges
Closet smokers have a tough time with vacations, especially when they try to hide it even from the spouse. Our built-in, carefully prepared routines are disrupted, and we must devise new tactics. I remember waking up at outrageously early times every day on a European vacation to grab a few smokes before the togetherness had to start. I once sneaked a smoke with my head out the door of the Orient Express, hoping not to be discovered by anyone but the porter, but so desperate that I would have found a way to deal with discovery if it came to that. We closet types have to go to extreme measures, and vacations are particularly stressful.
After a couple of decades of this type of behavior, I was wondering if I'd be able to enjoy a vacation as a nonsmoker. It turns out to be not that difficult. I am doing very well, although I am avoiding parasailing and karaoke, mind you. We have done a lot of bike riding on some superb bike trails here on Cape Cod, and I'm pleased to report that former packaday ToddL has considerably more stamina than the spouse-who-never-inhaled, though less than darlingdaughter who has unlimited energy reserves.
Yesterday we went to Provincetown at the tip of the Cape, an excellent place to people-watch and gender-guess. We did some of that, and then went whale watching. We saw only one minke whale from a distance. However, we saw probably 20 humpbacks, many of which made repeat appearances, cows and calves, checking out the boat, swimming under it, bobbing nose-up vertically, rolling over and slapping the water with their flippers, breaching, and exhaling on us. What a show. Smokers were confined to the lower rear deck, and there were some passengers, perhaps a dozen, who missed at least 2/3 of the sightings because they would not leave the designated area.
Today we went to a beach, about 1/2 hour from our lodging, only to discover that we had left our swimming suits back at the room. I came back alone to retrieve them, with evil twin. "Yes, Winston, this is an ERRAND-INDUCED SMOKING OPPORTUNITY." In times past, this would have been such a welcome moment, and I did give the possibility some serious consideration, but when I reached the room I paid a quick visit to quitnet.org instead, as some of you may have noticed. I'm still accustomed to capitalizing on these opportunities whenever they occur. I considered drowning Winston later in the afternoon, but I don't think it is possible to do actual harm to evil twins. I've had other moments, also errand-related opportunities, when the thought has crossed my mind in a not so subtle fashion. Guess I should be pleased with myself, having made it past what will probably be the easiest smoking situation of this vacation, but I'm a little annoyed that moments like this one are still seen as opportunities.
Overall, however, I am finding it possible to actually enjoy a vacation. I never would have thought it possible 4 months ago. I think spouse and darlingdaughter are having fun, too, when they're not pushing each other's buttons (what is it about mothers and their daughters, anyway? It's a "chick thing" isn't it?).
Oh, if you're wondering what happened to all the miniature golf courses in your area, I've discovered where they went. No place has more miniature golf than Cape Cod.