The first time I tried smoking, my hair caught fire.
It happened during a play rehearsal in college. At that juncture I not only had hair, I had hair that tended to flop adorably onto my forehead. This meant that, at a moment in the script when I, the virgin smoker, had to bend toward a cast member to get a light, I let my forelock get in the way of the flame.
Suddenly, everyone in the room was slapping my head. Burnt hair, I learned, smells really bad.
From that moment on, I pretty much decided not to smoke. There was no call to ruin my lungs if I wasn't even going to look suave doing it.
But smoking — and smokers — still fascinate me. I've long wondered, as Sven Davies does in "Smoke and Mirrors": Why do smart adults still smoke (especially the smart adults who work at the Planet) in the face of so many social, medical and financial reasons not to?
Our editorial staff, it turns out, encompasses every kind of smoker, from non (that would be me) to non-stop. In the spirit of mutual understanding, here are their stories.
David Warner
The Reluctant Addict
I'm not gonna go into how I started, because there is no justifiable reason for willingly putting toxic substances into your body. Suffice to say, I was 19 and in college and still relatively ignorant. Some would argue I haven't changed.
Fifteen years later, I'm still doing my best smokestack imitation. I suck down a little under a pack a day, and I'll readily admit the only reason I still haven't hit the two-pack mark is because my boyfriend is asthmatic, thereby forcing me to curb my habit in the house and car. Then there's the whole Clean Air State thing …
Do I want to quit? Yes. Will I? Probably not anytime soon. I'm addicted, man — full on. I smoke to celebrate, I smoke when I'm stressed. I smoke after meals and when I'm trying not to eat.
I'm counting on my strong willpower to help me quit when I'm ready. You can laugh, but there's precedence for this in my family. Among others, my sister quit cold turkey after 30-plus years (she put her cigarette money into a jar each week; 18 months later, she and her family are planning an Alaskan cruise with the proceeds). And my mother did the same, throwing out her last pack at the ripe age of 72, after almost half a century of smoking.
I don't know if I'll be as successful, but I know that one day I'll try. And I couldn't tell you when, though I'm fairly sure that when I do, I'll become a bitch from hell. Some will argue that I haven't changed.
Kelli K
The Drinker-Smoker
Cleaning the house one day, Mom discovered my cigarette stash (tucked in a box on a shelf in the closet), and executed the perfect reverse psychology ploy on an 11th grader. "Go ahead and smoke," she barked, flipping the pack at me. "Perfect habit for an athlete."
So I quit.
At some point in college, I had about 14 beers in me and, spur of the moment, bummed a cig from a friend at the bar. It was excellent. Woke up the next day with my head pounding but not the slightest desire for a smoke. Thus was born a guy who only puffs when he drinks. Over the years, I found out I'm definitely not alone, although many drinker-smokers, as I now call us, seem to struggle more than I do staying away from the sticks during sober times. I NEVER have the desire to light up sans alcohol. The notion repulses me. Why after four beers I turn into Paulie from The Sopranos, I'll never know.
I used to bum 'em, now I buy 'em. But a pack might last me two weeks (depending on alcohol consumption). The most I'll smoke is maybe eight in a night, but usually it's more like two or three. I used to try and hide my semi-habit from my family, and my wife and I would get into tiffs. "You're gonna start smoking all the time," she'd allege. "No I'm not," I'd counter. "It could happen," she'd shoot back. "Not a chance." "You can't say for sure." "Yes I can." … Now she doesn't say anything — out of exhaustion, probably, because I'm sure she still disapproves.
Funny thing, though. I used to sneak a smoke outside if I was having a few drinks at home, and would invariably get busted by my wife's superior olfactory skills. Now I don't even bother. The social part of the smoke is just as important as inhaling the nicotine into my lungs.
Eric Snider
The Cigar Snob
I can honestly say, in all humility, that I am better than any cigarette smoker — because I smoke cigars.
Even though the stogie boom of the 1990s is long since over, cigar smokers still enjoy a certain cachet, a macho coolness. Or at least we think we do.
I have never smoked cigarettes; I've not tried even one. My first encounter with cigars was, well, misguided. I smoked a pack of Swisher Sweets in 1978 while at the Florida-Georgia football game in Jacksonville. I didn't touch another dog rocket for 13 years, until I was working in the Tampa Tribune's business news department.
A co-worker — Adam Levy, now a bureau chief with Bloomberg Business News — urged me one day to join him for an afternoon smoke break at Tampa's legendary Edward's Pipe and Tobacco, a hangout for various captains of industry who smoke. Levy got good banking story tips there; I figured I would try a cigar and hang out.
Cigar-smoking stuck. Today, I find the ritual relaxing — carving out an hour to sit back, clip the end of the stogie, light it and enjoy while the rest of the world keeps spinning.
Wayne Garcia
The Reformed Smokers
Joe: We both quit smoking on August 15, 2003.
Leilani: Probably for different reasons.
J: What was yours?
L: Because I graduated from college and I no longer had the stress level that I once did. Plus, I was tired of hacking.
J: That's more my reason. I was sick and tired of waking up in the morning and having to cough up—
L: Bizarrely shaped pieces of phlegm.
J: And black. Black and misshapen.
L: It's a lot like coughing up a piece of your lung.
J: Yeah. But we loved smoking.
L: [Laughs] Yeah, Still do. Still want to.
J: Every day?
L: Yeah. Today I was thinking about how often I think about it.
J: That's deep.
L: The only thing that's kept me from smoking is the guilt I'd feel from knowing if I did, then Phil and you would have a reason to start again as well. [Note: Phil is Leilani's fiancée and Joe's brother. He also quit smoking that same day.]
J: Yeah, plus second-hand smoking is almost as good.
L: Not quite, but…
J: But it's all I have left! I've been reduced to getting my fix by breathing deeply during various editorial staffers' smoke breaks.
L: I still like smelling the cigarettes in the pack, too. They smell like raisins and tobacco goodness.
J: Do you think you'll ever go back?
L: When I'm 70.
J: I'm holding out for family tragedy. Then I'm puffing away.
L: Oh, shit. Can I retract my statement?
J: Yeah. Just don't kill my brother for a drag off a Camel.
L: I'm not making any promises.
Joe Bardi & Leilani Polk (Tampa Events Editor)
This article appears in Feb 22-28, 2006.