The death of Peter Jennings (from lung cancer) last week has lots of folks thinking about smoking. I remember when smoking was allowed on airplanes and ash trays were common desk accessories in the office. Ash tray. A tray for your ashes. Do they still manufacture ash trays? I’m sure they do.

My favorite “ash tray” is The Smoker’s Oasis. The grand daddy of ash trays, The Smoker’s Oasis has sprung up like big, stinking mushrooms outside offices and buildings across America. When we drove our smoking employees outdoors, we had to come up with someplace for them to put their butts.

We had one outside our offices for a while. It was originally located 30 or 40 yards from the back door of our building. The next time I saw it, it was right next to the building, so smokers could get a little shelter from the rain.

I went searching for it to take a picture for this post but it’s gone. When I asked one of my smoker co-workers where it was located, she would only mutter, “It’s gone. I don’t know where it is.”

My current theory is our Smoker’s Oasis has become like Dracula’s coffin. Only smokers know where to find it and you can never spot them going to or from the secret location.

Do our closeted smokers take turns emptying our Smoker’s Oasis? Is there a secret duty roster somewhere, showing who has butt chores this week? And where do they dump the butts? Do they bury them in the woods behind our office, taking care to spread leaves over the shallow grave?

Do they dream of a day when they are once again in the majority and can come in from the cold? Will we have nice, cut glass ash trays on every desk, with the company logo proudly imprinted on the side? Will we see a day when there is no longer a need for the Smoker’s Oasis? We can only hope.

I eat breakfast two or three times a week at Mel’s Country Cafe. Nothing fancy about Mel’s and the menu never changes. It’s the kind of place where you can get mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and a piece of banana cream pie. (If you’re from Kennett, think Palace Cafe or McCormick’s)

And you can have a cigarette with your meal at Mel’s. And lots of folks do. They made the back room smoke-free a few years ago but you have to walk through a cloud of smoke to get there and back through it when you’re done.

When I walked into Mel’s on Tuesday, one of the servers informed me that the smaller room in back is now the smoking room and the larger, front room is smoke free. Whoa. I took a seat and looked around and noticed most of the same faces, sitting in their usual places. All the smokers sitting in the smoke-free room.

I asked my server how the new policy was going over. “Not so good,” he admitted. “A couple of them have gone back to the smoking room long enough to have a cigarette, and then came back to their usual spot.”

I grew up in a smoking family. I understand smokers and the power of their addiction. I’ve known smokers that would get a divorce or quit a good job rather than give up the habit. Family members who no longer speak as a result of long-ago arguments about smoking. These are the same people that stand hunched in the freezing rain to get their fix. What force could make them stop smoking long enough to have some ham and eggs? And it hit me.

Routine. It would be more shocking to their nicotine-soaked nerve endings to sit in a different chair…at a different table…IN A DIFFERENT ROOM! I’m told this is a common phenomenon among regular church goers who have their regular pew. We dedicate this song to all the men and women jonesing through breakfast at Mel’s.

Something new on the smoking scene. New to me, at least. On a recent trip to Florida I walked to a nearby supermarket. The temp was in the upper 90’s and some of the employees were taking their cigarette break (just outside the entrance, of course). Rather than stand there puffing in the heat and humidity, someone had pulled their van up and parked it just outside the entrance to the supermarket. The sliding door was open and the AC was blasting. They even had a little cooler for drinks. They seemed to be taking turns crawling into the van to cool off. It was like a little nicotine tail-gate party.

I don’t think people rant about smokers the way they used to. I know I don’t. It would be like ragging on crack-heads. I don’t know any former smokers. Banned from their offices, from restaurants, even from bars in some cities… they huddle outside buildings in their shirt-sleeves in February, stamping their feet trying to keep warm. I always wonder what they’re talking about. Are they pissed about being “sent outdoors?” Or are they embarrassed that their addiction has brought them to this sorry state of affairs?

I try not to stare as I walk by. I hate seeing their furtive, defensive glances. They remind me, for all the world, of convicts in some 1940’s movie, milling around The Yard…waiting for the screws to tell them to go back to their cells. Or street bums huddled around a burn-barrel, sucking on a butt in some bombed-out neighborhood. Curious as I am about what drives these lost souls, I never approach them. I came close recently.

I was in the airport, walking past one of those little glass rooms they’ve constructed for smokers. There they were, jammed in, staring at the floor, the smoke so thick you could barely see them. I couldn’t resist. I took a picture. I took a couple. When they finally noticed me, some waved…one guy gave me the finger. I know it was insensitive of me. Like sneaking into the amputee ward at the hospital. But I couldn’t help myself. What –I wondered– could compel someone to sit in that little smoky room?

But that sounds like I have more sympathy than I do. Most of the smokers I know are pretty militant these days. (“Fuck you! I’ll smoke if I want to.”) I mean, where do they think it will all end. What goes through their heads when they see an emphysema sufferer dragging that little oxygen bottle through the mall? “Whoa. That looks like a drag.”

This is a recycled rant from an old Website. I dug it out after noticing that more people seem to be smoking today than ever before. Seems like I see lots of young smokers. I admire their fearlessness in braving what will probably be a long and agonizing death.