A European Vice

Italy vacation countdown: T minus 10 days.

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I know that the Europeans (and Asians) have a totally different view of cigarettes, smoking in public places, and the concept of second-hand smoke. And for 5 long years, I have reluctantly made my peace with the fact that I should not only prepare for, but expect, cigarette smoke to be a common occurrence in restaurants, airports, offices (or at least many of them), and in most public places…in fact, to be blown into my face, my lungs, and my general direction. I get it.

For those of us familiar with non-smoking areas, the US has far stricter views of second-hand smoke and the protection for non-smokers’ rights in public places. Trust me, view this as a blessing!

Not so in most other parts of the world. Usually, I can physically and literally move past this issue, accepting what I cannot change and seeking out ways to adjust to the problem. This includes changing tables, or moving “upstream or downstream” (as the need be) past the smoker that is discourteously blowing ash and smoke in my face. Rarely, do I result to the “scowl” technique which is intended to shame smokers, since I know this is never really effective. Still, I find it hard to refrain from doing just this at times.

Point in case: A recent trip to the hair salon for much needed hair color, highlights, and a cut, required my presence in the salon chair for about 2.5 to 3 hours. During that time, the woman next to me (who was getting a permanent, as if the fumes from that were not enough to knock me unconscious) proceeded to light up not one, not two, but three cigarettes in that same period. Being a prisoner to my chair, I was at a total loss as to how to shield myself from the incoming carcinogens being sent my way. At one point, the burning stick was literally less than an arm’s length from my nostrils. I began to feel trapped in a sickening haze of smoke that was infiltrating my lungs, my hair, and my clothing.

I tried everything. I tried the “polite cough” routine (customer next door – get the hint?). Nothing. I turned and twisted my body in an attempt to provide a “star wars” shield from the incoming smoke. This resulted in doing nothing but irritating the stylist who seemed totally clueless as to what the issue was. I tried covering my nose and mouth, but I had to breathe at some point. I suppose I could have been straightforward and asked (or since I can’t speak German, signaled) for the other customer to move her cigarette. That seemed a little too confrontational. Finally, I resorted to fanning myself with my Entertainment Weekly magazine (another reason never to show up without reading material at the hair salon) in the hopes of fanning the smoke back towards her. Not sure it worked, but I felt better.

BTW, does it strike anyone as odd to see a person running, walking, biking, or exercising in any general manner with a “cancer stick” protruding from their mouth? (Sorry, did not mean to go caustic there). Doesn’t this seem to be a contradiction of some sort?