Sometimes I entertain fair-minded notions about poor smokers. The unfortunate victims are being hemmed out from every side, persecuted like Salem witches. On my campus, this has forced smokers to hide part-way down my trail, below prying eyes from the road, a regular Anne Frank hideaway.
I know this because, during the winter, they left big, round, yellow-stained tracks in the snow where they hopped from one cold foot to the other while they smoked. I know this because I met one yesterday morning as I was arriving. We chatted about the coming lawn-mowing season. I know this because…
…they’re leaving their butts on my trail. I guess they get thristy, too, poor things, because…
…they’re leaving beverage containers.
I know how hard life must be for you, dear smokers. It must be terrible to see those “No Smoking” signs everywhere – 21st Century “Whites Only” signs. I fully expect you to organize “Smoke-Ins” on public buses and in restaurants…where, of course, you’ll leave your butts on the floor and toss beverage cans in the corner.
My advice to you: Get a Freakin’ Clue! Or at least a Freakin’ coffee can! If you want any sympathy from me, stop leaving butts on my trail!
(Do I feel better? Well, a little, but I’m pretty certain that butt-flipping smokers don’t read my blog.)