September 2008
August 2008
July 2008
June 2008
May 2008
April 2008
March 2008
February 2008
January 2008
December 2007
November 2007
October 2007
September 2007
August 2007
July 2007
June 2007
May 2007
April 2007
March 2007
February 2007
January 2007
December 2006
November 2006
October 2006
September 2006
August 2006
July 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
February 2006
January 2006
December 2005
November 2005
October 2005
September 2005
August 2005
July 2005
June 2005
May 2005
April 2005
March 2005
February 2005
January 2005
December 2004
November 2004
October 2004
September 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004
April 2004
March 2004
February 2004
January 2004
December 2003

May 31, 2006 17:49Thank You For Not Choking Me To Death

Long after so many other civilized corners of the world clued in, Quebec has finally decided to join the party and ban smoking in all restaurants and bars. Despite this trend becoming more and more popular across the globe, it's a major breakthrough I thought I'd never see happen here. Quebecers are hopelessly addicted to tobacco, and asking them to lay off the ciggies over a beer or a coffee is a pill about a thousand times harder to swallow than gay marriage, a prime minister from out west, or the fact that Celine Dion is an insufferable shrill skeleton. They just love to smoke as no other culture on Earth.

Witness one woman I saw only hours before the smoking ban was due to take effect. She was sitting on a bus-stop bench, an arm adorned by a huge hepatitis-chic tattoo, a smouldering cigarette hanging out of her mouth, and a belly full of nine-month-old fetus. Just try suggesting she should quit. She'd claw your eyeballs out. When I, with no particular affinity for children, see someone like that, I still think, "Hi. Could I adopt your child once it's born so you don't get to fuck it up?" If I actually said it out loud as often as it occurs to me, though, I'd probably end up with more adopted kids than Angelina Jolie and Mia Farrow combined.

It's not like you can warn the typical Quebecer off the stuff, either. They laugh in the face of mortal peril. Then they start coughing and hack up half a cup of tartar, but they're still giggling once they're done. Even the particularly vile Surgeon General labels they started covering cigarette packaging with failed to put anyone off. Pornographic pictures of gum disease, heart disease and lung disease didn't slow down sales, it boosted them.

Last month my local corner store guy complained to me at length about one interminable transaction he had to go through before it was my turn at the cash. The guy in front of me wasn't just buying cigarettes, he was filling out a collection. He made the cashier rifle through every single pack of his favourite brand of smokes looking for the one particular tumor he was still missing. No luck that time, but I'm sure he was happy to smoke a few more crates of coffin nails looking for it.

Bar and restaurant owners have launched an appeal of the new law, convinced it's going to drive customers away. I, on the other hand, know a few establishments I'll be frequenting much more often now that I can enjoy a meal or a drink without tasting someone else's fumes. Taking a walk on the sidewalk outside, however, will be like strolling through the smoking lounge of a tobacconist convention.

© Eyestrain Productions & Shane Simmons
Web Design by Zoonini Web Services