Top 10 Reasons Why 100 Days Without Nicotine Is Good

10. More money for hookers.

9. When Batman offers me a spot on the Justice League, I'll still have to turn it down, but it won't be because I smoke.

(it'll be because Wonder Woman won't ever learn to let go if I don't give her space to blossom)

8. A longer lifespan means more opportunities to find Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman's REAL killer.

7. Since I no longer have to wait on line to buy cigarettes, I no longer have to deal with the smelly fuckheads who can't buy lottery tickets and scratch-off bullshit without taking twenty minutes to do it. And since I don't have to do that, I will never stand there, tapping my foot impatiently, thinking "Yeah, buy more scratch-offs, you'll definitely win, it's not a waste of money." And since I won't be thinking that, I won't find myself taken aback immediately after that silent insult when I say to myself "Oh, what? Like investing in your own slow death is less of a waste?"

(of course, if they bought scratch-offs AND cigarettes, I felt secure in my hatred)

6. I haven't had to lie to my girlfriend about whether or not I smoked.

(which is good, since #10 has the potential for enough problems)

5. I haven't had to care that every business in NY, including old smoking havens like Dunkin Donuts and Denny's, has gone non-smoking.

4. I haven't had to worry about whether or not I had enough cigarettes and a working lighter or dry matches before I went out.

3. I haven't been "the smoking guy" at parties and get-togethers. Unless you mean smokin' HOT!

(no, I know, you didn't)

2. A couple of weeks ago I had a somewhat surreal experience at Wal-Mart with my girlfriend.

On line at the cash register, the woman in front of us had enough food in her cart to feed a few dozen yeti. This, naturally, would take a while to ring up. The while it took to ring up was lengthened by the fact that, when all was said and done, her card was declined. After a few awkward moments, my girlfriend supplemented the few dollars of cash the yeti den mother was missing.

The "while" that these events took was lengthened again by the cashier. I don't remember his name. I'm going to call him Rod. Rod was 17, maybe 18, with spiky blond hair. He looked like every bad guy frat boy/jock in every 80's movie. You know. The guy who's the son of the rich guy who's taking away the orphanage? The orphanage that can only be saved if the cool misfits put aside their differences to rock the Battle of the Bands tomorrow night? The younger guy with the meathead friends who all wear sweaters tied around their necks? Rod looked like every single one of those guys, but less intimidating.

Rod stopped in the middle of ringing up the yeti woman about a half dozen times. It was about 6:05 pm when he started ringing her up, and there was apparently some concern that HE thought he was leaving at 6, but his bosses expected him to leave at 6:30. So, every few minutes, one to three managers would come by his register and talk to him for five minutes about whether or not he was staying.

What was genuinely weird about it was that he did all the talking. This little teenager was dealing with people easily in their 30's, 40's, maybe older, and when they came by to talk to him, he dominated the conversation. He grabbed the schedule and pointed to this and that spot on the paper, explaining to them what the mix-up was. And not once did any of these managers say anything, use any body language, or even give a meaningful glance to signal that just MAYBE he should stop worrying about this and ring us the fuck up already.

Finally, after apparently the legislative session of cash register 7 of the Wal-Mrt on Rte 4 closed shop for the day, Rod grudgingly started ringing through our last items. He grunted a half-felt apology about the wait, and spent the rest of the transaction scanning our items at the speed of snail-fucking, and complaining about his long day. When all was said and done, it took us at least 20 minutes to get through the line. One can't help but wonder how close to 6:30 this evil genius was stuck in the place anyway, precisely because he refused to let a single Wal-Mart employee old enough to remember when phones were used for talking walk by his register without grabbing them and complaining about the time he was going to leave at ANYWAY.

This last bit, the complaining, is the point.

The last complaint I heard from him, before the beard I had shaved off right before entering the line grew back longer than before, was "I didn't even get to smoke a cigarette today."

If I had still been a smoker, I might have felt an ounce of sympathy for this stupid, aryan jerk who - at his best - helped humanity by serving as proof that, as one of my favorite singers, Perry Farrel, once said...

...Some people should die. That's just unconscious knowledge.


1. Because tomorrow is 101.