Smokey the unbearable

July 1, 2008 seems entirely too far away from now. That’s the “drop-dead” date when all Chicago taverns have to comply with Chicago’s smoking ban. I found myself lusting for that moment as I hung out at the Abbey on Saturday night for Jim DeRogatis’ book release party. I had a cold walking in, and having sucked in endless volumes of smoke while there, I left feeling like I’d been snorting fire ants the entire time.

And it wasn’t just my sinuses that got punished. My clothes, my body, and my car reeked. It was one of those nights when I couldn’t just crawl into bed once I got home. Instead, I had to take a long, semi-luxurious, shower to get rid of the smoke stink that had bonded with every follicle of hair on my body.

Do people have the right to smoke? Of course they do. If they want to spend that kind of money to soil their teeth and destroy their lungs, I say “godspeed.” However, I shouldn’t have to wear their stink home. To me, getting drawn into a Pigpen nicotene cloud is comparable to having people pour cups of beer on me all night long. Your habit. Keep it away from my person. Thanks.

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