Easy, Marlboro Man
He started smoking when he was 13.
“It was the cool thing to do,” he said. At one time he was a two-pack-a-day man.
Now he’s down to four or five cigarettes a day. Still fighting.
He doesn’t smoke at home, only at the office. Outside. In his car in cold weather. He’s come a long way and wants to go further.
“It’s ridiculous that something can get a grip on you like this,” he said. “I’ve tried all the recommended recipes for quitting. All but the patch.
“I’ve tried substituting those little brown cigars for the cigarette. They just left me still sucking for nicotine. I even wasted $50 on hypnotism. The guy actually put us under and had us crush the pack of cigarettes in our pocket. Before I was halfway home, I had uncrushed the pack and was puffing away.
“This thing jeopardizes family relationships,” he continued. “Soon after I told my wife I had quit, she became suspicious and asked me point-blank if I were still smoking. I said no.
“I lied to my wife! It had come to that — lying to someone you love. That’s how powerful this stuff is.”
He is a business consultant.
I’ve become his friend and mentor in his struggle, remembering what one of my readers once wrote: “At one time or another, I was hooked on alcohol, cocaine and cigarettes. I quit all three. Quitting cigarettes was by far the toughest.”
Confession time
You see, I too am a former smoker. I smoked two packs a day, although many of my cigarettes burned away in the ashtray while my fingers were busy punching typewriter or computer keys. Quitting sure ain’t easy.
I went through a war in the South Pacific, during which I gave away my weekly ration of free smokes, and through four years of college before I tasted my first Marlboro. Peer pressure is almost as powerful as nicotine addiction.
As an ex-smoker, I have become as obnoxious as a sanctimonious born-again sinner who is still a closet scoundrel.
At my favorite burger palace, Fat Daddy’s, I sometimes shriek like a stuck pig when smoke drifts over from the smoking section and instantly rewards me with a splitting headache. I’ve been known to seek out the offenders and glower as I walk by. Not good.
I recently stopped by a Cameron Village restaurant that I once frequented because of its fine cuisine but abandoned because of its smoking policy. It has reopened after a remodeling. As I entered, the foul odor of stale cigarette smoke hit me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said to the waiter who greeted me. ” I see you still allow smoking.”
“Only after 10 p.m.,” he explained eagerly. “If you come before 10, no smoking.”
As we all know, the odor of cigarette smoke is as permanent as a tattoo. It permeates our clothes, our hair and — above all — our lungs.
One of the inevitable questions your doctor asks is, “Have you ever smoked?” Not just “Do you smoke?” but “Have you ever smoked?”
The question isn’t asked out of idle curiosity. It carries an ominous implication. It may soon be amended to, “Do you frequent restaurants and bars where smoking is allowed?”
What will lawmakers do?
So, again, it’s time to stand up and be counted. The state General Assembly is considering raising state cigarette taxes — now only 35 cents, sixth-lowest in the nation, compared with $2 per pack or more in 10 states — and banning smoking in bars and restaurants.
Smokers would not be forced to quit smoking. They would only be required to go for two hours or so without lighting up in public restaurants. Or, if that is physically or mentally unbearable, to just step outside for a five-minute fix.
Legislators last year banned smoking in their own workplace, including the dining hall. Surely they can accord the same health protection to their constituents.
For decades, the late Agriculture Commissioner Jim Graham, tobacco’s lifelong friend, proudly displayed a sign on his desk that said “Thank you for smoking.” He also bragged about North Carolina being “First in Turkeys,” referring to the state’s production of the birds.
Whether this legislature displays any backbone in again confronting King Tobacco is yet to be seen. Let’s hope the honorables won’t leave Raleigh in midsummer being remembered by health-conscious Tar Heels as a bunch of turkeys themselves.
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Source: http://www.newsobserver.com/2766/story/1398180.html
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