On our recent White Mountains trip, Mr. P and I were enduring a steep climb on Wildcat Mountain when we passed a young couple sitting on a rocky overlook. They both had long hair, earthy clothing, rugged backpacks, and lit cigarettes.
“Remember when we used to take smoking breaks on hikes?” I asked Mr. P when we were out of earshot.
“Yes,” Mr. P sighed, with a touch of regret, and a touch of wistfulness.
We recalled the pleasurable flow of nicotine-laced smoke pouring into exercise-primed lungs and envied the couple’s devil-may-care youth until we passed the couple a short time later as we made our way down from the summit. They were climbing up the steep trail, their gait stilted and maladroit, their breath labored and raspy. Oh, yeah. Miss those ciggies.
Yep, despite being a former hard-core smoker, I don’t have too much sympathy for smokers these days. Second-hand smoke whiffs have ceased to be a guilty pleasure; I’m so far removed from the habit that I get annoyed when walking on the sidewalk behind a smoker, or entering a building flanked by loitering smokers. What gives these smokers the right to pollute my personal airspace with their cancerous, noisome scent?
New York City is considering a ban on smoking in city parks, playgrounds, and beaches (here). Banning smoking outdoors seems a tad harsh, especially in a city riddled with ozone and particulates, and I do feel a twinge of outrage on behalf of the civil liberties of smokers. Ultimately, though, now that the idea has been floated, I have no doubt that it will catch hold.
The New York Times did a light human-interest piece about other irritants that New York City could ban in parks (here) such as pigeons, cellphones, overflowing trash, and… dorky NYU freshman?
Some fashion faux pas should also have no place [in parks], said Victoria McNally, a sophomore at next-door New York University, as she did her Spanish homework on a nearby bench in Washington Square Park.
In particular, N.Y.U. first-year students should not be allowed to wear telltale lanyards affixed with keys and IDs around their necks, Ms. McNally said.
“It’s just kind of funny, because these 18-year-old kids are trying to look fashionable, like they’ve been here awhile,” said Ms. McNally, 19. “But they haven’t, and that’s how you know.”
Oh, that’s hilarious. And how long have you been in NYC, you world-weary 19-year sophisticate? Maybe… a year? Barf.
