By Marian Kelly
Globe columnist
I went to a buffet-style restaurant the other day and was seated in the non-smoking section, per my request. When I got up to make my selections, I found myself assaulted by a cloud of cigarette smoke. It turned out that the buffet line started in the smoking section and worked its way back.
I was reminded of a comic buddy who, when he observed that the smoking and non-smoking portions of the restaurant in which we were dining were side-by-side, asked, “How does the smoke know?”
I have some strong opinions on this subject, so before I get all pre-menopausal on you, let me throw in this disclaimer: In my reckless youth, I smoked for more than 10 years. I smoked because I enjoyed it, and I’d probably be smoking today if health issues hadn’t forced me to quit.
I am not on any crusade to deprive others of their God-given right to indulge in the legal addiction of their choosing. Far from it — my fervent hope is that all smokers do so for enjoyment, and not because they can’t go five minutes without a nicotine buzz.
However (and this is where I’ll begin getting grammatically incorrect letters that smell like an ash tray), I am convinced that, clueless restaurant-seating policies notwithstanding, smoking is, in and of itself, an IQ test. There is no more accurate measure of a person’s mental powers than the way in which he or she conducts their smoking habit.
There are many intelligent smokers out there, and they deserve to be acknowledged. You’ve seen them — they won’t even smoke in the bleachers at a football game because they know the smoke may wind up in someone else’s face. Not only smart, but considerate.
You seriously have to have a room-temperature intellect not to realize that your smoke bothers others. If you light up, especially in a confined area, without asking if anyone minds, you might as well be wearing a “Booger-Eating Moron” T-shirt.
I am a snob about this? You bet. During my worst pack-a-day phase, I still refused to smoke in the homes of non-smokers, even if they assured me it was OK. I knew I didn’t need a cigarette badly enough to stink up somebody else’s house.
I’m not even going to bother getting into the very real health risks of second-hand smoke (or first-hand smoke, for that matter). You’d have to have spent the last 20 years living off the grid in a mud hut not to know all that — or maybe the conspiracy theorists are correct and the government just made it up so they can tax the daylights out of our terbacky.
The point is, whether or not you believe your smoke is actually harming anyone, you can still exercise good manners — a surefire indicator of intellect.
It amazes me that I continue to hear the expression “smokers’ rights.” There’s no such thing. One doesn’t acquire any additional rights because one smokes. We have always had the right to foul our own breathing space, but not anyone else’s.
A souvenir of my years of smoking is a lifetime case of chronic bronchitis. It doesn’t take much to set off an attack of coughing and wheezing that will last for days or even weeks. What’s that expression civics teachers use? “Your right to swing your fist ends at my nose?” I’d say your right to smoke ends in roughly the same place.
One of the reasons I stopped working smoke-filled comedy clubs a few years ago is that I still had a smoker’s hack, 15 years after quitting cigarettes. A couple of my fellow comics accused me of wimping out, but I knew I’d made the right decision when that cough went away within a few weeks of my leaving the club scene for good.
One other thing: I don’t buy into the notion that smokers are being discriminated against because the number of smoking-allowed areas seems to be shrinking before their eyes. Hey, we used to do nuclear testing near elementary schools, too. We know better now. Deal with it.
I don’t want to come off as looking down my nose at smokers — heck, I still consider myself one. If the missiles are ever inbound, and I know I have 15 minutes left to live, having a cigarette will be the first — well, maybe second — thing I’ll do.
On the other hand, I have to laugh when I see that bumper sticker that says, “I’ll smoke anywhere I damn well please.” I’m not superstitious, but that just seems like asking karma for a big old smack on the behind. I think it was my college biology teacher who said, “The gene pool is self-cleaning.”
Marian Kelly is a comedian and motivational speaker. Her Web site is www.mariankelly.com. She lives in Seneca.
