Wednesday, December 11, 2013

No Smoking

In my local government's ridiculous attempt at assuaging the idiotic miasma of the PC police: There's no smoking allowed where I work.

And so, before my half-hour bus-ride home every day after work, I've been scuttling around corners like Gregor in my attempts to sneak a cigarette.

Thought I'd found a daily haven behind one huge oak, but, as of a couple of days ago, nah: The kids passing by don't give a shit, but there's one genre of person who does care mightily: The circa-65-year-old-woman-with-a-walker on her way to her car after work. As she informed me: "This is a smoke-free area. Now, PUT IT UP!"

Good-fucking-lord.

I didn't "put it up," just walked past her a few feet and turned a corner to where I could finish my smoke in peace without her seeing me. (She was old and sad and had I spouted at her "You're aging and sick and you have no control over anything in your personal world, and so you're picking these extremely petty battles to make yourself feel better!" -- well, that obviously wouldn't have done either of us any good.)

The "rule" is sad. Her having-nothing-better-to-do-than-tell-random-others-what-to-do is sad. My having to skulk around corners to have my cig before the bus-ride home is sad.

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