The Joys of Not Smoking: Jury Duty

Well, that's not quite right. There aren't so much joys of not-smoking. There's no joy in not smoking itself.

Joy can only be derived from not smoking in contrast to smoking; or rather being a smoker.

Now, during the quitting process, not smoking is actually excruciatingly painful, while smoking is the only and direct relief from that agony. The rewards of quitting smoking are very slow in creeping in, after months of anguish, in direct opposition to the immediate rush of relief when that first suck of smoke hits the lungs.

In this period* of abstinence from smoking, I've found myself in a few situations that really make me really appreciate the fact that I quit**. I've got to savor those feeling and ingrain them, because these are some of the things that will strengthen my mind in preventing relapse.

One shining example was...jury duty.

I had jury duty recently. Although it was nice to not be at my usual dead end day job, I was lucky to only have to actually show up to the court house for one day.

My assigned courthouse was in a community where even the rat holes have burglar bars. It is a 13 storey building, with 5 out of 6 very slow elevators operational. The stairs are off limits except in emergencies, and the user does not determine what constitutes an emergency. If a stairwell is entered, there is immediate, armed response.

It's not too bad at 7:30am, but after about 2 hours, the place is packed with all kinds people, none of whom are happy to be there. Many are expressing this, and may look at you as if you are responsible.

All of these people cram in the hot elevator waiting room, waiting for one of the tortoise-drawn elevators to return from it's journey around the sun. You've got power suited lawyers; drunk/stoned, tattood gangsters; entire families bawling post-verdict; police; junkies/tweakers; average joes, etc, etc, all trying to cram in this room to get on the next elevator. Since they seem to arrive so few and far between, it is necessary to pack bodies in to each car like sardines.

Needless to say, it is something anyone can die happy without having experienced.

Now, what about smoking? Well, if you want to smoke you have to go outside. Like on the balcony? The roof? What, no smokers' lounge? Nope. The only way is to deal with the elevator situation.

I can't imagine having to deal with that every time I needed a smoke. And I constantly needed a smoke. Well, actually I can imagine it. It just would have been torture, all day long. I would either be sitting in there jonesing like hell, dreading the attendant tribulation of the elevator journey. Or actually enduring it. After finally being down and outside to smoke, with all the nice folks hanging out there; by the time I got back up to the waiting room, it will have taken so much time I will be ready for another cigarette.

As I pondered, remembered and imagined all of this, the waiting room at jury duty surpassed comfortable and approached the luxurious.

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* By this period, I refer to a time where the agony of withdrawel has subsided to a tolerable level, but I don't yet necessarily feel entirely invulnerable to relapse.

** I feel the need to clarify that when I claim to have quit nicotine, I say so with the understanding that I will be on a slippery slope for the remainder of my life. Just as an alcoholic is eternally addicted to booze, I am in danger of reverting back immediately and deeply into smoking at any time.