I've never understood smoking. In my mind, it's an expensive death-stick that smells disgusting, infects all surroundings, including clothes, furniture and food, and drives non-smokers away. However, I can accept that some people find it a social activity. Sometimes, giving a colleague a cigarette will form a bond and be an invitation to the company or social group.
On one of my first shifts at The Junction, I was offered, after only two hours of work, a break. Rather than just a rest from standing up and over-thinking about all the spirits and wines and ales and lagers and soft drinks and food and hot drinks and everything else we have to offer, it was an invitation to smoke outside. The problem with this invitation, apart from the smoking element itself, was the way in which I was asked. "Do you smoke?", said Abel, seemingly with no indication either way of whether he did. "No," I replied bitterly, "I don't. In fact I think smoking is vile. It's pointless and I can't stand it." Abel looked taken a-back but gave the traditional reply of, "Good, don't smoke. It's bad for you." Of course later on I found he's quite a committed smoker. Thankfully he was understanding enough to not be offended and we actually get on really well.
You can imagine how I felt when I found out my housemate smoked. And how I felt when I found when he had done since December 2011 - although not properly, so really it's been since about March 2012. Had I known, I would have seriously reconsidered signing the 12-month contract. Whilst I'm still a little bit bitter that when I started to smell it on him and questioned him about it, him knowing entirely that I hate smoking - not least the smell, he repeatedly came up with lies: "My step-sister smokes and I've been hanging around her," or simply "You're imagining things.", he is actually making an effort to keep the vile odour outside. And if it travels inside even a little bit, we're armed with a flurry of air fresheners: one electric at the door, two cans in the kitchen, one incense on the stairs and, my room being downstairs, an array of girly perfumes and deodorants should an emergency occur. I'm not going to convince him to stop so masking it is the best I can do.
But my domestic issues are near enough irrelevant in this general waft of debate. The smoking ban has, the government would like to think, cleared the air a little. Pubs are now pleasant places to be - as long as the clientele aren't five pints down with intention to double up and start fights or moan about the economy, or women, or the poor, or foreigners, or the time of year, or the weather, loudly - where good conversation can be had without the interruption of coughing from the thick fog of cigarette smoke. There's a new problem, however: the outside. If a pub is lucky enough to have an outdoor seating area, this is now the hub of death-stick hobbits. Huddled around heaters in winter, producing a thick cloud of cancer, or, in the lighter months, confidently scattered in different areas and spreading mist everywhere, smokers ruin the chance of some fresh air.
At work, the only seats left for when I want a break are outside. I have to politely duck when a customer routinely blows not only his (or her) own spit vapour in my direction but also the dregs of the death-stick of choice. Thank you, that's exactly what I wanted within the relief away from a hot room where I have to spend 100% of my time on my feet. Fresh air is no longer an option unless I want to take a walk down the high street rather than rest my legs. On the positive side, those I work with a more considerate. They strategically chose seats near me that won't mean the wind will try and involve me in the smoking craze. Perhaps now we need sections in outside seating areas for people who simply want to enjoy fresh air and a glass of water. The dullard corner. Take me there with my book or Sunday newspaper. I'll wear a special hat if it's required. If the message can get through from non-smokers that being around smokers can be incredibly unpleasant, please, let this happen!
No comments:
Post a Comment