I always swore that I'd never be one of those sanctimonious former smokers. So far, I have been pretty good about how I treat and act toward people who (still) smoke. That is, for the most part.
The other day, my doctor's assistant called in a bit of a huff. Apparently, when I checked on my insurance change-over at the pharmacy, they re-ordered all my 'scripts. They are pretty helpful like that (I think because they think I'm a little slower than I actually am), but they called in a RX for an expired Chantix. My niece picked up the meds but I just left them at her house. Still, I'm pretty sure my doctor was telepathically kicking my ass since I am taking estrogen now.
When I told my friend, she asked if she could have the Chantix. First of all, I don't give out my meds. Second of all, this chick could get those pills any time she wants. She doesn't want a thing to do with quitting smoking. She was just trying to mess with my head. Her doc had prescribed her some months ago. I think she took them like she takes her vitamins - when she feels in need of one. Idiot. I wasn't as bitchy about it as I could have been; it was easier (and nicer) to just say that my niece tossed the meds. I don't know who was more relieved: my friend or- No, it was her.
The very next day - I mean, less than 24 hours later - this chick asked if I could pick her up a couple packs of cigarettes while I was out. Her car is in the shop for a couple of days and I know what it's like to be without a ready ride. Hell, I know what it's like to be a smoker and out of cigarettes. Still, I think it's rude for her to ask me to pick up cigarettes for her. Why not ask an alcoholic to stop by the liquor store for you? It's rude. And I am actually okay with being around cigarettes and smokers - that's not my point. What bothers me is that, in this case, with this friend, I had to beat my nicotine habit while she smoked around me. After I did beat my habit, I had to get an air purifier for my room so that I don't get all of her smoke and stink and ick second-hand. The only time this girl isn't puffing is when she is in my car. She smokes so much, she won't even pick a brand. She smoked three different kinds of cigarettes - King or 100's, Full Flavor or Light, Menthol or Regular - all at the same time. She keeps at least three open packs around her at all times!
Anyway, when she managed to fix her lips to ask that I go and buy her cigarettes, I fixed my lips to tell her to kiss my not-as-fat-as-it-used-to-be ass. I didn't actually tell her to do that, but I did fix my lips to tell her. Then I had a visit from that little cartoon figure of my conscience. (It was a little pencil-drawn me puffing on a cigarette.) My cartoon-me told me not to be a bitch. She reminded me of what I used to feel like when I wanted a cigarette and couldn't get to one. She told me that being mean to my friend was not going to keep her from smoking.
I listened to cartoon-me and ended up giving my friend a lift to buy her own cigarettes. That was the nice part of real-me. (The bitch part of me knew that my friend couldn't wait to light up the minute we got back home so I made a few stops for errands along the way. She almost slid down getting out of that car when we got to the apartment.)
At any rate, this has all reminded me that I really don't want to be one of those ex-smokers. I don't want to act like I never had a killer habit for nicotine. I don't want to pretend that there wasn't a time I would've probably turned a couple of tricks for a pack of cigarettes if I'd had to. You think I'm kidding? Ask a smoker what's the most they would do for a cigarette - but ask them when they are out of smokes and don't have another pack on hand.
While I don't want to be that kind of an ex-smoker, I sure am glad to be any kind of an ex-smoker.
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