Smokers are Jokers

My first and only notable high school infraction involved my unsanctioned trip to “Cancer Corner” during a 10 minute morning break the late fall of my freshman year. I'd made such trips before – I neither needed to smoke nor particularly liked standing out in the cold – but the desire to break away from the devastatingly boring nondescript good girl role I had dutifully played for the last fourteen years of my life, was strong enough to overcome those impediments.

So I huddled with Mischa and Mony, painfully conscious of my every inhalation and sigh and sarcastic remark, convinced that any second my squareness would ooze right out my sides and I'd be compelled to insist we gather round for a stirring rendition of Kumbaya or suggest we use the remaining break time to do some math problems (for fun!).

On our way back across the street to campus we were rounded up by some beefy hall monitors and escorted to the principle's office. I know that I was shitting bricks, but Mischa and Mony were totally nonchalant, convinced that no one “had no proof” they were smoking and therefore all charges would be dropped. They urged me to play hardball. I failed miserably We reeked of smoke and had clearly been off-campus, when I was alone with dear ol' Dr. Djoudi in her office of doom I just crumbled – fessing up to it all without the slightest coercing.

“Well, Mary wouldn't smoke would she?” There it was, with those simple words Djoudi sealed her fate - comparing me to my perfect-in-most-every-way-valedictorian sister at the absolute first opportunity. I decided I would hate her forever. [Hilariously, my sister was living IT UP in her first semester of college (wild Williamsburg) and had already discovered a passion for both alcohol and tobacco.]

Two days in ISA didn't quite shake me of the desire to be cool. I would smoke off and on until I went to Spain my Junior year, where I would smoke non-stop for 10 days. On the last of those days I decided that I was “quitting,” a term not entirely appropriate for giving up something I didn't really like doing all that much anyway.

Other smokers sometimes teased me, saying I didn't inhale deeply enough or I smoked lights or I wasn't really addicted and at 16 or so that feels like a real insult. These days I feel different - there is nothing square about my beautiful, pink, healthy lungs (or my desire to do math problems for fun).