Installation 44: Smoke, Smoke, Smoke That Cigarette previous

Since Karrie Thompson gave up drinking, the only vice she had left to enjoy was smoking. Well, let’s clarify that: there was eating, of course, and lately she’d been hitting the Dulce de Leche Haagen-Dazs fairly hard in the evenings while watching the seven seasons of “American’s Next Top Model” on DVD. And there was still a bit of drinking. Because not drinking at all, not even a little champers at a wedding or cocktail at a party, was just weird. She didn’t want to be the chubby girl in the ill-fitting dress drinking cranberry juice while telling everyone it was a Sea Breeze. The difference in her drinking habits after completing Chemical Dependency Counseling was that now she only drank in social situations, not alone. Well, except for when she was on her way to a social function that made her nervous or had a hard day and came home to sit on the couch with a glass of whiskey. This last was a habit she’d picked up from Phillip Mantou and she was trying to shake it, if only because she wanted all reminders of Phillip excised from her life. Phillip was old enough to be her father and really was a hopeless drunk, although his drinking had yet to affect his sexual appetite.

But, anyway, smoking.

Every hour or so, Karrie got up from her desk in the Development Office and went out for a smoke break. She stepped outside the main doors, stood in the often windy square in front of the building and lit up. Instantly she felt soothed. The feeling was best compared to the hair strands in commercials for shampoo for damaged hair. The strands pre-treatment were frazzled and rough. Post-shampoo they looked sleek, all the little ridges lying down. Playing nice. This is what happened to her nerves when she smoked a cigarette.

One afternoon she was out smoking and Penn Bradley poked his head out.

“Smoking?” he asked.

“What of it?” Karrie said.

“Nothing,” he said. “No. I just… I didn’t know anyone smoked around here anymore.”

“Well, I guess my big secret is out,” Karrie said.

“I used to smoke,” Penn said. He looked back inside the lobby, as if to see who might be watching them. The lobby was empty except for the guard at the security desk and Phoebe Persons at Coat Check. Phoebe seemed to be absorbed in knitting something orange and square.

“Mind if I bum one?” Penn asked, coming all the way outside.

“No,” Karrie said. “Help yourself.”

For several minutes, the two of them smoked in silence. Then Rod Spellman came out.

“Oh, God,” he said and rubbed his face. “What a day, huh? I got this shipment of new brochures for Ride the Snake. Twelve fucking boxes? My storage area ain’t big enough. And Hank, that bastard, is making me fill out the Request for Storage form if I want to store the extra boxes back by him.”

“Life’s a bitch,” Karrie said.

“I need a smoke,” Rod said. He tapped out a cigarette and lit up. His eyes slid back over to the lobby and Phoebe at coat check. “I don’t get that chick. I’ve asked her out, like, seven times and she just stares at me like I’m not speaking English.”

“She’s nuts,” Penn said. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I thought she was just temporarily nuts,” Rod said. “I’ll tell you this, she has terrible taste in music. Hates ZZ Top. Doesn’t like Black Sabbath.”

The glass doors of the lobby swished open and Phillip Mantou stumbled out, squinting even though it was overcast.

“Hello everybody,” he said. “And Karrie.”

“Save it,” Karrie said.

Fern Fiddle limped out with her cane, stopping to retrieve a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her oversized purse. She held them out with a shaking hand.

“Someone light one of these for me?” she asked. Penn stepped forward and took the pack.

“Christ,” Karrie said. “It’s getting really crowded out here.”

“This is part of my therapy,” Fern said.

Penn handed her the lit cigarette and she stuck it in a gap in her crooked teeth, where it stayed wedged, allowing Fern to have both hands free to handle the cane and continue to dig through the contents of her purse while puffing away. Plumes of smoke rose up from the group, nearly obscuring the view of the lobby. A woman and her son approached and the boy started to cough.

“Mommy,” he whined. “I can’t breathe.”

“We’re almost through," the mother said. "I can see a door… a desk. Yes, I think we’re just steps away from some art, honey. Don't breathe in. I don't want you getting emphysema.”

“I really hate it,” Karrie said when they were safely inside. “When people are so righteous about not smoking. They love to make us feel bad. Don’t they know this is a disease?”

“I’m remembering why I quit these things,” Penn said, gazing down with distaste.

“This is part of my therapy,” Fern said. “There’s no way I’d be out here if I were well. But since the attack…”

“They don’t try to make you feel bad,” Phillip said to Karrie. “You feel bad on your own. You know you’re a cow who smokes and drinks and eats her way through her sad days even as her ass falls and her breasts sag and her voice begins to sound like that of a 59-year-old whore.”

Karrie got in Phillip’s face. “Say that again, you sack of cheap liquor and shit.”

She shoved Phillip. Phillip shoved her. Cigarettes were waved in faces. Fern laughed and with each exhalation smoke seeped out from her brown teeth. Penn Bradly shrugged and lit another cigarette. And then Jim Corchester, a trustee of The Museum, stepped out into the melee.

There were only two vaguely interesting things about Jim Corchester. One, he actually wore a pocket watch. Two, he made a hobby of being offended.

“What is happening here?” he blustered. “This is offensive, all this smoke. This is a museum, a cultural institution. Not a saloon. Not the back office at the neighborhood auto body shop.”

“Sorry, sir,” Penn said.

“Sorry nothing,” Jim said. “How do you think this looks? Have you no pride? Have you no propriety? I’m thoroughly offended.”

Without waiting for more explanations and excuses, he turned around and went back inside the building.

“Well,” Penn said to Karrie. “Now you’ve done it. That ends the smoke breaks. The Director kisses that guy’s ass.”

“Yes,” Phillip said. “If only you could control your anger, Karrie, we could continue to enjoy abusing ourselves to our heart’s content.”

Karrie’s response was to knock the cigarette out of Phillip’s hand and step on it. Then she put hers out on his leather satchel and stomped away.

At 2:00 that same afternoon, the Office of The Director sent out the following e-mail:

Recently, we received complaints from visitors and a trustee regarding smoking at the main museum entrance. While we don't know if the smokers in all cases were staff members (although we strongly suspect they were), we feel it’s necessary to institute a Revised Policy on Smoking, which replaces our earlier Policy on Smoking, which was instituted in 1977.

For review, the old policy stated, “Employees who wish to smoke should be courteous to nonsmokers and move their smoking to out-of-the-way corners, restrooms or the employee lounge. The employee lounge is a designated smoking area and nonsmokers may not ask smokers to leave the area. However, smokers must empty the ashtrays in the lounge at the end of each work week. Furthermore, smokers should not block entrance ways while engaged in smoking but should remove themselves at least seven feet from the building, even when it is cold, windy and/or precipitating.”

As you can see, this original policy is dated, even laughable in light of today’s medical evidence that smoking kills.

Our Revised Policy on Smoking is as follows:

Because of our concern for the health of our employees, volunteers and visitors, smoking is absolutely prohibited at The Museum. Also prohibited is all talk concerning smoking, including the desire to have a smoke, as that can put ideas into heads and create new smokers.

In order to make our entrances welcoming, employees are not to smoke at or near museum entrances. Smokers can go across the street, to the small stand of oak trees, if they are standing to the north of the trees (hidden from view.) It is also permissible to take a quick jaunt around the block while smoking, provided all clothing or name tags identifying the smoker as an employee of The Museum are removed.

Managers and supervisors are responsible for ensuring employees comply with this policy.

As an exciting new incentive to stop the filthy habit of smoking, The Museum will offer a smoking-cessation course to interested employees through the Human Resources department. Please sign up with Terry Dugelman by dialing extension 113. She will also take anonymous registration in the “Suggestion Box” outside the HR offices. Simply put down the number of people you wish to register and an alias.

Your cooperation is appreciated.

The Office of The Director