Up In Smoke

There was an article in the newspaper recently headlined, "Smoking Could Make You Friends." I noticed it because I'd been thinking the very same thing, just a few days earlier.

The article was about US presidential candidate, Barack Obama. The reporter said that Obama had been quite a heavy smoker, but gave it up at the insistence of his wife, just at the start of his campaign. The author was saying that he should take up the habit again, as it would help him connect with white blue collar voters -- a crucial constituency, that he is struggling to win over. Apparently, while smoking has been in rapid decline in the US, it's still widespread among blue collar folk.

Most of my life I've been glad I've never been a smoker. Somehow, it just never caught on with me. The first time I tried a cigarette, I hated it, and couldn't understand how anyone would want to do that again. Later on, when I went out partying I sometimes had the odd puff to get that dizzy feeling, but it always made be feel nauseous too and I always regretted it. And I hated smokers, because the smoky bars and clubs meant my eyes hurt, and I always came home from clubs stinking of stale cigarettes.

When our health minister began banning smoking in public places, I rejoiced. And I still do. It's much better going out these days -- the air is way cleaner than it used to be, and my eyes and clothes (and nose) reap the benefits. I see friends who smoke and how they struggle to give it up, and the toll it takes on their health, and as I say, I'm grateful.

But about a week ago, for the first time ever, I suddenly had cause to regret not ever being a smoker. I was chatting to a friend who'd just moved to Cape Town, and she was saying that she wouldn't have made any friends there if she hadn't been a smoker. It was in the stolen moments, huddled in the cold outside with fellow puffers, when she began to forge bonds with her new colleagues. The fact that they all felt like an endangered minority fueled the sense of cameraderie.

And then it hit me. Not being a smoker has harmed my career. I always wondered how I was never up on the gossip, never seemed to meet the people from other departments and floors that others seemed to meet. Never knew quite as much about colleagues' families and personal lives as some of my co-workers did.

I can't think why I didn't realise this before. I guess we all have those things that we just don't see, when they're staring us in the face. But the other day the scales fell from my eyes, and I realised that much of this essential networking, gossiping, getting to know who's who, getting the inside scoop, happens among smokers in the smoking room, on the landing of the fire escape, in the courtyard, as they slip out for their fix. Being a smoker would have given me a valuable opening to talk to and meet new people. And of course I would have picked up on a lot more of the unofficial information and knowledge that's essential to making your way in the working world. Not that I've done badly, but just think of what I could have achieved, had I been addicted to nicotine!

But I don't feel too bad. I might have missed out on the smoking-room grapevine, but I've also escaped cancer, a hacking cough and yellow teeth. Maybe that's not such a terrible trade-off. But for Barack Obama the stakes are a bit higher. Maybe he should think of taking it up again -- at least until the elections in November!