I've never taken a single puff in my life. Always
found it revolting, even before I understood the health issues.
It was Bob Newhart who saved me from smoking, actually -- we had some of his comedy records when I was a kid, and one of his routines was a one-sided phone call from Sir Walter Raleigh back to England, telling them about this quaint custom of the natives he had encountered here in America. Bob played the marketing expert who received the call (you don't hear Sir Walter Raleigh's part), and it went something like this, best I can remember:Walt, baby, how are things in the colonies?
Great, great... so I hear you have this new product you wanna try out back here, tell me about that.
Uh... leaves? Did you say leaves, Walt?
Leaves. Uh, Walt... y'know... come fall in England here, the trees... we really have plenty of...
Oh, that's not all. Okay. I'm listening, Walt.
They dry the leaves, yeah, okay.
And they roll them up in paper, yeah... yeah, I'm with you, Walt. They roll 'em up and...
And they stick 'em in their mouth...
And they -- ha! They set fire to 'em, Walt, is that what you said?
Oh gosh, Walt, I gotta tell ya... this doesn't sound... nobody in his right mind... I mean, no offense, Walt, but... don't call us, we'll call you, okay babe?
I loved that routine! And after hearing that, how could I even think of doing something so clearly ridiculous?
As for how smokers make me feel... well, I understand that they have an addiction, and addictions are hard to kick. But this is an addiction unlike any other: I can sit right next to a heroine addict while he shoots up and suffer no ill effects from it at all... but a smoker imposes his chosen poison on me from yards away.
I still prefer not to hang out with heroine addicts, though.