The Chain Smoker

Note: This is something I wrote quite a few years ago. Still, it amuses me.

I now present to you the first in an inevitable chain of columns entitled: Interesting People You Meet When You’re Standing in Line Behind Them Whom You Soon Want to Punch in the Throat.

In this case, I was at a gas station waiting in line when I noticed that the person in front of me was making quite a hefty purchase. Apparently, he either hated his lungs or his only goal in life was to have the worst breath in the entire world, because he was purchasing a plastic bag bulging with cigarettes. I was able to count at least ten to twelve packs on the outside of the bundle, but I’m sure the total was somewhere closer to twenty or thirty. His total bill came out to be eighty-two dollars worth, which is pretty impressive for a gas station purchase that does not include gasoline.

Here’s what got me, though. He said to the cashier, apparently in an attempt to defend his action: “My son is addicted to nicotine, so now I am.” This is a direct quote.

My only theory on this is that he must have looked into his son’s room at some point and caught him lighting up a cigarette. His paternal instincts kicked in and, for the good of his son and for the good of his family, he knew he had to make a responsible decision about what to do next. Unfortunately, it have been to say, “Hey, son, can I try one?”

Perhaps he fought the urge at first, mainly because his wife must have told him that he was as dumb as a post to start smoking just because his son did, but eventually he just couldn’t fight it anymore, especially when his son said to him, “C’mon Dad! Everybody’s doing it!” That was enough un-peer pressure to push him over the edge and start him on the road to Cough City.

But that is not why I wanted to punch this guy in the throat. (It was just funny.) The real reason was because he decided to pay with is credit card, and like ninety percent of all the people who have ever been in front of me in lines who have decided to use their credit card, he acted like he had never seen one before. He squinted at it, poked it, prodded it, tried swiping it a few times, talked into it, and generally wasted a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out how to get it to work. (“Let’s see, if I was a credit card, how would I work? Dang, I need a cigarette to help me think!”)

Finally, he gave up, awoke the cashier, and let her help him. (All the while, I was trying to hold back a nearly irrepressible urge to topple a display rack over onto him.) Finally, he got everything paid for and headed outside to go on, I assume, a record-breaking chain smoking tirade which could very well last into the New Year. (Also, he left on a motorcycle, which indicates to me that he was well into his mid-life crisis.)

That brings me to my next topic. I could never, ever, not in a million year, be a cashier. I would not be able to put up with all of the people who’d come in and act like the current system of money for goods and services was new to them. You know the people I’m talking about. Those who forgot their money at home, those whose credit cards don’t work because they used them all winter to scrape their windshields, or those who come in looking to use a coupon from 1986 from a different store and who subsequently put up a huge argument when it isn’t accepted.

If I was a cashier, the only way I’d be able to handle it would be to keep a large club with me, kept discretely out of site. As soon as some customer started to pull any of the previously mentioned actions, I’d just whip out the club and bonk him over the head, and move on to the next customer, now brandishing the club for intimidation. Once the original customer revived, I’d give them another chance, but if they messed up, I’d bonk them again. I’d repeat this process until they got it right or gave up, or until the cops came and hauled me away.

Well, I’m sufficiently worked up. I suppose I should end this rant before I start to use some nasty words that I would regret, such as %$&#@, or even worse, &*%$@. I don’t want to offend anybody. Plus, I think it’s time for a smoke. I saw a guy smoking on the street once, so now I do it too.