Six months ago I discovered the joy of pipe smoking, a leisure
activity I occasionally indulge in. Contrary
to American suburban life in the twenty first century, the pipe smoking ritual
is a slow one. I often smoke alone, but
enjoy the thought provoking company of other pipe smokers. I smoke on my back deck, not just out of
consideration for my family but because the view and weather in Colorado is
great. With my pipe in hand I entertain
my thoughts uninterrupted to the pleasant aroma of pipe tobacco.
It used to be an annual requirement to meet with my doctor
in the military. Due to recent cost
cuts, I have not seen a doctor in a few years.
Instead, I meet with an 18 year old airman who takes my blood pressure, height
and weight, and then asks me a series of questions relating to eating habits,
frequency of drinking and smoking, mental health, sleeping habits etc. During my recent meeting, the airman asked me
if I used tobacco products, to which I almost replied with a “no” out of
habit. I affirmed that I started smoking
six months ago.
“Cigarette, pipe, or smokeless tobacco?” asked the monotone
airman, his back to me and face glued to the computer screen.
“Pipe,” I responded, perhaps with a hint of pride. The airman glanced over his shoulder at me, raised
a classic Spock eyebrow, and then returned to typing.
“How many times a day do you smoke?” asked the airman,
returning to his zombie like state of data entry.
“I don’t smoke daily,” I replied a bit too defensively, “just
on weekends.” The airman continued to
click the data away into the electronic medical archive, where it will remain
hidden until reluctantly discovered by a future, equally disinterested VA
employee.
“Have you made plans to quit?” the airman asked, not out of
genuine concern but because he had come to his final required question.
“Why would I do that?” I asked, unable to control a laugh. “I just started!”
