I fought the law, and I won

I had taken a little too much time trying to think of a cute way to squeeze in a way of asking the lady to see me that night when I was texting her at the Caribou. I took a little more time when I was debating whether or not to buy the paper there or when I get into the city, when I'd be buying a New York Times anyway.

So by the time I actually walked out the door, I of course heard the bells clanging and saw the cars from the train make their gentle inch forward as the whistle sounded. I just kind of shook my head and smiled. There was another one coming in a half-hour that I normally would have relied on, but had I missed that one, then I'd have to wait an hour and a half or some shit, and, well, fuck that.

So I took my time walking up to the station and when I arrived a minute or so later, with nothing to do, I lit up a cigarette.


OK, see where that lady's walking out of? That's a little coffee place called Depot Express. Now see that little blue sign on the glass, past where she's walking from and just a little to the left of her eyeline? Yeah, that's where I was standing when I lit up my smoke.

There was nobody else around at the time, seeing as most everybody on the platform had just boarded the train. And the few who'd perhaps missed it were all now waiting inside the station's ticket office located around that little glassed area where the blue sign is. It was, after all, pretty cold out.

You could tell by how rosy the cheeks were on the heavy-set older woman who was walking toward me along the platform. Breathing seemed somewhat difficult for her while she tugged along her luggage on wheels behind her. She appeared to be headed presumably for the comfort of the indoor heated shelter of the ticket office when she looked at me as she passed and remarked, "You're supposed to be 15 feet from the door."

She continued to look at me but also continued toward the doors inside. Having not really seen her comment coming, the only thing I could originally think about was how long it had been since anybody had said something like that to me—or at least, in that tone. That, and I was internally asking myself if I was really within 15 feet of the door.

Naturally, my only reaction was to smile and release a snickering sound that hopefully indicated how amusing I found the whole thing. "Oh, you non-smokers ..."

I guess she didn't like that much because she stopped and came back towards me, sporting a nasty scowl and saying, "It's a statewide law ... idiot."

Idiot.

I really let that soak in. Had I been drinking, or even hungover the way I used to be, I'm relatively certain that by this point I would have really put the bitch in her place. When the ban first went into effect in Chicago a while back, I flicked my lit butt directly into the chest of the white-collar fiftysomething that did exactly the same thing and walked right on into Ogilvie. I could hear him shouting on the other side of the glass.

This woman, however, caught me on a good day. And so I laughed, hopefully letting her know how much I sincerely appreciated this amusing anecdote to missing the train—something that used to drive me fucking nuts.

I thought the matter was resolved after she'd scoffed and opened the door to the station, but she stopped and turned back toward me. "Would you like me to call the police?"

This was becoming the gift that just wouldn't stop giving. I'm pretty sure there was no way to keep a straight face with how entertaining I was finding all of this, what with puffy-faced non-smoker probably having her entire day ruined all because she was making mine.

I felt disappointed when she walked inside to make her phone call. I very much wanted to hear how such a conversation actually went.

Seeing as there was still much time before the next train arrived, I took my time finishing my cigarette and became increasingly giddy at actually getting to talk to a police officer to begin my day. It had been quite some time since I had had a conversation with one in which I wasn't balls-to-the-wall wasted. Today, I'd be able to address their concerns sober as a stone, sharp as a tack.

Alas, the squad car never arrived. Or at least the train did first, some 15 minutes later. But it was exciting for those few fleeting moments that made me realize how grateful I am to be a smoker. I do it almost entirely because cigarettes help me relax. The personal physical penalty I pay for smoking is the possibility that I might die sooner, which doesn't really frighten me as much as it should ... yet ... I guess.

Incidents like what happened this particular Wednesday morning at the train station are a further sign of how much more I need to pray for non-smokers, because if anybody really needs something that will help them chill the hell out, it's them.

And now I know what I must do if I should encounter this woman again: I will apologize for my rudeness and then humbly reach into my pocket to offer her a cigarette.

"You need this more than me."