Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

In keeping with my new year’s resolution, I’m seriously trying to quit smoking. I spent the evening chopping up celery and carrots, in an attempt to have something else to do when I feel the urge to smoke. I boiled eggs, stuffed celery with cheese and peanut butter, (not together) and made sure my fridge was full of healthy snacks. I’ve also been carrying around a pack of candy cigarettes that I got from Steubens, whipping one out and sucking on it to diminish my cravings. Overall I’ve been doing pretty well, however I do pop over to Williams Tavern nightly and purchase two cigarettes for one dollar.
Of course since I’m trying to quit, everywhere I go I see discarded, partially smoked cigarettes. Big butts. Everywhere. In front of my apartment, along the street, at the train station. It seems like every person I pass is smoking, and even the bums are plentiful in their cigarettes. As I made my way to the platform at Yale station, I noticed several big butts stuck in the crack of the sidewalk, so I took out a candy cigarette and pretended I was smoking it. I caught the attention of two young men, Eddie and Jesse, who approached me and asked to bum a smoke.
“Sorry, I quit. This is a candy cigarette.” I informed them. It took them a second to realize what I was saying, and it was obvious they were quite stoned.
“Bummer man. But good for you,” Jesse said. Eddie stepped over and scanned the tracks, I knew he was looking for butts.
“There’s a couple of really bit butts in the crack of the sidewalk over there by the trash can,” I said.
“Really?” They were excited and headed to where I pointed. They returned with the butts and Jess used his lighter to burn the filter on his, I’m assuming in an attempt to sterilize it, before he lit it up and inhaled deeply. “Thanks man, that really helps.”
“No worries,” I said.
“Hey, do you smoke dope?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said.
“Do you mind if we do?” he said.
“Nope,” I said. “Go ahead, but you know there are cameras all over this place.”
“Dude, cameras?”
“Yup, RTD cameras.” I knew this from taking the RTD CERT class. The two huddled their heads and started taking hits off a pipe anyway.
“You sure you don’t want a hit? You helped us out with the butts and all.”
“No, thanks. I’m all right. You two be careful.”
They stood around and chatted, and I couldn’t help but catch a whiff of their smoke. They told me they were 19, and professional stoners, and that they hoped to meet me again someday because I seemed like such a cool lady.
When my train arrived I had forgotten all about wanting a cigarette, and was a little worried that other passengers on the train would think I smelled like pot smoke. Then I remembered this was Colorado, and pretty much everyone on the train smells like pot smoke. I settled in and took out my baggie of celery sticks, determined to stick it out until I made my nightly run to Williams Tavern…

January 8, 2012 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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