AN OUTSIDER

Like many people, I tend to smoke outdoors. Largely because the person who lives in the other room of this apartment is a non-smoker who doesn't like the smell -- one must be considerate of the people who tolerate one's peculiarities, those are hard to find -- and also because there are very few indoor smoking places left in San Francisco, or anywhere in the modern world. So, of course, I've gotten used to it, and sneer at fellow smokers who grumble about the cold and their personal sense of offended discomfort; "it is so frigid down by the compost heap, darn it, it's snowing, there's a blizzard, and I cannot feel my toes!".

Snow, blizzard, toes? Suck it up, old boy, be a man!

In the interests of full disclosure, I have no compost heap, it never snows here, and if that's an aromatic pipe tobacco (vanilla cherry strudel?), you're pretty darn stinky and deserve to hide near the open sewers.


So, let me quote from Mr. Bender on Facebook:

"Oh-so-manly dudes who smugly sneer at those who make the choice to smoke in the garage or outdoors rather than in the home where their families, pets, et cetera are. They come across as insufferably lacking in empathy and just sort of simultaneously inflated and empty... “Ha, look at you losers being respectful of those around you. Pathetic. I do whatever I want wherever I want whenever I want to. I’ve been divorced five times, have no friends, none of my relatives talk to me anymore, and I have been banned from every church and Walmart in the tri-state area, but by God I’m a real man!”

"And, I mean, if circumstances and housemates allow you to smoke indoors that’s great; but making it part of some hopped-up hypermasculine bullshit is just plain dumb."
End quote.

This morning I was out on the front steps with a tiny cigarillo, a hot cup of strong coffee, and my bathrobe. It's peaceful out there. Some people up and down the street waiting for their ride to work, a few loonies and street people talking to themselves, pigeons, crows, and a seagull. An occasional vehicle (uber, garbage truck), and the silvery light of the sun behind the layer of haze and fog.

My "hypermasculinity" consists of knowing many things, being relatively agreeable and considerate, and a certain level of tolerance for other people. I don't know if any churches or Walmarts would let me in; I'm not likely to find out.

Smoking isn't reflective of machismo.


So I agree with Mr. Bender.




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