The Gas Chamber

My coworkers like to smoke inside. I realize that it's not the 50's anymore, but apparently some people are a little behind the times and still think it's perfectly acceptable to spark up during conference calls and company luncheons.

I tell them I quit smoking so I wouldn't die of lung cancer, and they blow smoke at me. I tell them I'll light their cigarettes for them in 40 years when they're in an iron lung. Then when I sit down after checking the mail I find cigarette butts floating in my water bottle. They say the irony is that I worry about cancer, but I'll probably get hit by a truck.

I've thought about taping together a giant plastic bubble with an exhaust fan attached that will guard me from their noxious fumes, but I don't want the UPS guy to think I have leprosy.

Our Ops Manager smokes Black and Milds, our Bookkeeper smokes Marlboro Menthols, and our President smokes Parliaments. Our Executive Assistant used to smoke Newports, but had a moment of clarity recently after being hospitalized for food poisoning and quit. I've heard at different times that all of these brands are worse for you than the others, but I'm glad they have varied tastes so that I can be sure to get the full range of carcinogens

Through all of my bitching, I've gotten them to limit smoking to the times that I'm not in the office. That means I'll go pick up lunch for everybody, and I'll come back, my arms so full of sandwiches or Thai food that I can barely open the door. When I do open it, billows of smoke come out that make me wonder whether they have been holding witch trials while I was gone. It seems that they are making up for lost time, chain-smoking like they're on death row during the twenty minutes it takes me to get their food.

I can only pray the fire marshal will show up to make sure our extinguishers are up to date one of these days when I'm on lunch. Until then, I am practicing holding my breath for long periods of time. My next idea is to start stripping down and leaving my clothes at the door when I smell smoke. That way my coworkers can have that topless secretary they've always wanted, and my shirt won't smell like an ashtray anymore.