Operation Nicotine

There I was, sitting outside our locked front door as I watched how the rain splattered on the empty green cigarette box which I just threw out a couple of minutes ago. The very green box, which maybe a couple of years ago I detested so much, is now sitting on the ground covered in rain. A few inches beside it was my second to the last stick of cigarette, or probably the remains of it which is now a burnt cigarette butt whose flames slowly died as water lay on top of it. I noticed how weak fire is against water and how weak I am to be lured in to this temptation. But it wasn’t always like this. I was very strong, well that was before.

I remembered how I got acquainted with cigarette smoking just a few months ago. For everyone who knew me well until now, they probably know that my bony structure could have easily fooled anyone that I was smoking while in fact the very thought of second hand smoke touching my nostrils is the last thing I wanted to smell. I hated smoking so much, and I hated innocent bystanders like myself being dragged into lung cancer’s deathly toll due to second hand smoke even more. I reasoned that if someone was to kill himself thru lung cancer would be fine by me, as long as they not breathe second hand smoke against my way; that is how I harmoniously co-existed with cigarettes before. I couldn’t give a damn about YOUR future lung cancer problems as long as you don’t drag me into it. Having been bombarded with medical pictures and slides of lungs before and after years of cigarette smoking thanks to my medical course, I knew I was smart enough to even consider the slight possibility of smoking. Me? Smoking? I’d rather gargle liquid nitrogen. Or so I thought.

I hadn’t had the faintest idea why my line of work is always equated with smoking. Some say it’s because of the stress level due to being harassed constantly by racist Caucasian idiots while some say it’s because of the cold night time shift that is associated with working in this industry. For the past two years that I’ve been working, I was always surrounded by smokers of all shapes and sizes and it didn’t bother me at all. Some heavy chain smokers, "Dragons" as I call them and some who just smoke because they want to fit in and look cool I presume. I wouldn’t be one of these people, I promised myself, not in a million years. But again, like I always say it, shit happens and life fucks up in the most unexpected, surprisingly beautiful way. Some things drive you over to the edge and you seek comfort in the warmth of the nearest possible source of sanity you can get your hands on. Good things, bad things, it doesn’t matter as long as they keep your sanity well in tack. We're only humans. I’m only human anyway. I have the license to be weak at one point and I am expected to be lured into temptation. I will always remember that night I started, wait rephrase that, I decided that I want to smoke.

I was 30 minutes late when I arrived at work that night but I didn’t know why. I took the precautions to be early as I always do and it took me so much effort to get to work. Two and half hours of travel should be well enough to be allotted but because the universe conspired against me that fateful night I was late. This injustice, added with weeks and weeks of layered stress, disappointment and frustration being constantly hurled at me had finally taken its toll. I decided I had enough. My face still fills with anger every time I think of that night because I knew I was stressed enough then to have a nervous breakdown. For the past weeks everything around didn’t seem and felt right. I don’t know if I’m just exaggerating things then but I knew I was very upset that night. Upset about everything. And I was alone.

After arriving at work late, sleepless and looking like shit I decided to hit the nearby convenience store first to buy some bottled water, a habit I have grown accustomed to ever since the company moved into that freaking location. I’m late anyway and a few more minutes of salary deduction wouldn’t actually hurt me. Out of the blue I said to the store clerk who’s actually a buddy of mine that I also want a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. It was like an automatic robotic response when I paid the bill. I remember how surprised he was when I said that because he knew that my work buddies smoked but not me. Al, who still looks like a goodie goody nerd fresh out from college would never ever smoke, not in a million years. But things changed that night.

After that I walked straight up to the side of the company lot, a secluded area, and stared at the cigarette box. My enemy for so many years is now lying into my hands...inviting me. With trembling hands, I tore the plastic wrapping, feeling dumber every second since I didn’t know where to find the right place to start tearing. After successfully opening it, I remember my buddies methodically tap the cigarette butt several times against the back of their hand before they smoke it to pack the weeds inside evenly. I did the same. I took the lighter and put the cigarette on my mouth close to the flame. As expected of a first timer, I burned my opposable thumb. I looked so stupid and felt so stupid at the same time. But I was able to muster a light laugh since I was happy. Years of revulsion toward this habit suddenly grew insignificant as hatred grew into curiosity. What is it with this medically-abhorred custom that lures people into it? I was about to find out. I tried it again but it was so windy that night that the lighter was not even close to being cooperative. I smiled. It was harder than I thought. I cupped my hands to protect my flame and tried it again. Third time’s the charm as they say. My cigarette did start to emit small smokes as I huff to keep the flames going. Right on, I think we’re in business.

The smoke tasted terrible in my mouth as I puffed it out. I tried it again but still the same bitter chemical taste. It wasn’t long before I finished two sticks and went up to feel the wrath of my supervisor for being late. I have to admit my first experience wasn’t all too peachy, it was actually terrible. So terrible in fact that I swear not to do it again. But maybe I was doing it all wrong. So after more couple of attempts alone I started to feel the sweet chemical taste of it. I found out that you have to deeply inhale it so that the smoke gets to your throat, down your air passages and out your nostrils. It was warm, very warm as the carbon monoxide smoke soothes my air passages. Exhaling it was the fun part because it’s fun to see breathing out a constant pillar of smoke. It’s like a feeling like you’re suddenly unbreakable. As I puff out smoke all I can say in my head is “Screw you world! I’m smoking and there’s nothing you can do stop me!” The warm feeling of smoke through the bridge of my nose to my lip was what I needed then to relax, to calm my edging nerves and to be sane at that time. Irresponsible, I thought, as I can see every disappointing face of my friends and my family if they knew what I have done. As I finished smoking I felt relaxed for the first time in a few weeks, a bit nauseous though because of the taste. My surrounding is swirling in my head. I hope I’m not going to puke. But amidst the blur of the images around me, suddenly everything seems to be slower, clearer and more visible. That’s how I feel after I smoke. My head feels so light but everything around me seems to be going in slow motion, like asking me to stop take note of every detail. After smoking I see clarity, which I usually need to fight my way through shit life throws at me.

As I sat looking on the now drenched cigarette box I remember the different responses I received when people started to find out I was smoking. At first I never smoked in front of my work friends or anybody else for that matter because I didn’t want them to change their image of me, the goody goody boy who would do nothing wrong. I always smoked alone because the last thing I wanted is for people to think I’m doing it to look cool, or to project a bad boy image, or to fit in. I smoke because I decided I want to; which is why it always irks me when people, once they find out, suddenly make a big deal out of it and ask me If I have a serious problem I need to talk about or if this is part of a late teenage rebellion that they missed out. I just let out an exasperated sigh because it’s hard to explain in detail the reason behind this new “rebellious” act of mine. I don’t have to explain to anyone anyway.

As I decided to light my last cigarette stick sitting outside our front door and looking at the rain splattering the pavement, I also thought if this would grow into a sick habit. I shuddered as the medical images of burnt lungs fresh from medical books ran a slideshow into my head.

Nah.

I know better when to stop and how to stop anyway. That I can promise to myself.