So. Here I am having a glass of red wine and a smoke…yep…a smoke. It’s 2023 and I quit on November 25th 1995. Buuuut…on occasion every now and then I flare one up. Not great I know, and normally it’s at an annual golf outing with my three brothers and a bunch of friends, where every year it’s painfully obvious I’m a much better drinker and smoker than I am a golfer. Oh and I’ve also used partying at events as a reasonable conduit to lighting up. That said, I’ve been smoking more lately…like I’ve actually smoked four packs in four weeks beginning in Siesta Key last month while on Spring Break for my son’s High School senior year trip. I find that it goes great with my recent return (yet again) to jogging (a stretch) while starting another weight-loss journey. Didn’t know this first run at a blog post was going to be a personal dissertation on smoking which is of course dumb…but there’s a reason for this latest foray into stale smoking, still dumb, but a reason nonetheless.
Why “stale smoking”? Glad you asked! So…there I was…in a boat on the high seas with my son, three of his buddies, First Mate Nick, and Captain Damien on a fishing charter and it happened. As we were headed from the back bays into the high seas of the Gulf of Mexico, it was that period on a fishing charter where everyone is trying to make small talk and get to know the Captain. Captain Damien was a chill, cool-looking cat (or Cap), with slick shades and beachy-attire maneuvering the boat like…I don’t know…insert something clever here <______> (just a test post and I’m already suffering from writer’s block).
Anyhoo…he had a seemingly cool-straight-forwardness about him…the boys originally might have called it grumpiness or dickiness…but I thought I saw something else…just simply this say-what-you-mean type of vibe. This should paint the picture. My son Xavier, modesty aside, is a super smart kid…but he tends to think a lot and at times when he’s talking, he’ll abruptly stop talking and start a new line of vocalization…and then stop again and start again. Funny thing is, all his friends and family know he does this and we simply await for the audio reflection of his thoughts to mature while conversing with him. So we’re about half a nautical mile into our journey (actually I don’t know how far, I just wanted to type ‘nautical mile’) and Xavier opens a dialogue with Captain Damien, “Um, Captain Damien…so if when we’re headed out to the fish…” STOP. “Well if we’re going to be…” STOP. “I mean if there’s fish out by where…” With cold-ish deliberation, slight annoyance, and authority without facing Xavier as he looked out at the open sea Captain Damien said, “Finish your sentence“. This was met with wide-eye smiles and surprise from Xavier’s friends and met with internal tingling and admiration that Captain Damien had zero funks to give and was evidently not worried about offending anyone to some extent that would adversely affect the gratuities portion of the charter once we returned…and Xavier did in fact on his next effort finish his sentence expeditiously. Needless to say, it was at that moment that my man-crush began.
Long story longer. While we were anchored and the boys were fishing, I decided to strike up a conversation by offering to buy a cigarette from Captain Damien. He didn’t charge me and sheepishly offered me his pack saying, “They’re Senecas…and they’re 100’s…supposedly there’s less bad stuff in them because they’re 100’s.” So for any of you who are not smokers and all of you (and me) should be 100% non-smokers, there’s this “thing” about smoking that seems to still be prevalent today in the smoking community…men don’t smoke 100’s…the ladies do. Men smoke shorter cigarettes…for whatever reason, it’s more “manly” to expedite your trip to lung disease because you end up smoking more of them. Back in my “real” smoking days (two packs a day), I smoked Camel no-filters and Marlboro reds because getting to emphysema and lung cancer faster than everyone else is super cool. Needless to say, I had never heard of Senecas and I never had smoked a 100…but on this particular day, I realized…I should be a fishing charter captain and not an HR Leader or COO or anything in Corporate America! Captain Damien and I hit it off and continued to smoke and chat whilst the fish were getting caught by everyone else.
The bonding continued when we returned from the expedition and then the Senecas were partnered with some libations shared between a veteran Captain of the sea and soon-to-be Captain of the sea. We were in the throes of watching the First Mate fillet the booty, and taking pictures and laughing and what-not when Xavier came up to me and said, “Dad…Captain Damien has been trying to get a picture with you and you didn’t notice“…dare I say, my man-crush was being reciprocated? I dare!!…we swapped personal mobile numbers and vogued together. The rest of the trip I partook in smoking a pack of Seneca 100’s asking everyone to call me “Captain” because I had decided to start a fishing charter of my own.
And here we are one month later. I’m still a COO/HR Leader. No one calls me Captain, I don’t own a fishing charter and I’m finishing the last of three packs of Seneca 100’s which are stale as shit and almost gone…but while they’re not-gone, I’m a Captain dammit. Ahoy and smoke ’em if you got ’em…until you don’t, and then don’t get anymore and stop smoking…it’s super bad for you.