Smoke Shop Confidential

See What The Boys In Back Are Having

This post is in response to my co-workers' inquiry: "When the hell are you gonna update your blog?"
So, Mister Bob, this one's for you...

As some of you may already know, the smokeshop has a nifty little lounge in the back. It was once the owners' office/warehouse/distribution center. As such, it was jammed floor-to-ceiling with desks, work tables, boxes of cigars, paperwork and ten years worth of accumulated detritus. Well, after much hump-work, carpentry, drywall hanging and painting, what emerged was a unique gathering place. On any given day, you can find investment bankers rubbing elbows with landscape contractors, retirees talking with twentysomethings and guys who want to sit and read co-existing with those playing Foosball. (And in case you were wondering, it is not males-only. Just male-dominated.)

For these many weeks I've wondered what to call myself in this blog. Do I use my real name? Do I use my e-mail name? Do I just make something up? Well, thanks to one of the smokeshop regulars, that little dilemma has been resolved. We're a society of few rules, but transgressing any one of them brings swift justice. One day I ran down to the local coffee shop without asking anybody if they would also like coffee and a nosh. When I returned, punishment (and karma) were instant:

"Well thanks a helluva lot there, ONE-WAY!"

And thus, I now have a name.

Changes

I've never been a big fan of change. Oh, I know it's necessary and the world would get really boring after a while, but still...

One of my co-workers is leaving for military service. In the time we've worked together, we've laughed our asses off, borne the burden of unreasonable customers, made the smokeshop a showplace and hoisted more than a couple brews afterhours. His reasons for re-upping pretty much run the gamut: the pay is good, he'll learn a whole new set of skills, his status as hard-charging muh-fuckah will be enhanced, he loves his country and, the one that really gets me, "...so some other S.O.B. doesn't have to go."

Back in my hippie days I thought military personnel were the most stupid, most evil things on the planet. Age has a way of opening your eyes. Now, I don't profess to understand the military mind, but I've got a whole lot of respect for it. I've heard stories from my father, my uncles and my brother-in-law about combat and I'm amazed by them. Amazed because these aren't superheroes, just ordinary people put into extraordinary situations.

So, if you meet someone today who's wearing the uniform of the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines or Coast Guard, shake their hand, look them in the eye and say, "Thank you."

Smoke

I'm back inside after enjoying a damn good smoke (a Fuente Double Chateau) and a damn good beer (Harpoon Winter Warmer). I was watching the constellation Orion rise in the southern sky and letting my fifty-five year old, Irish-Cherokee mind wander. And it settled on...smoke.

One of my earliest memories is of a party at my house. I was four years old at the time. My parents were quite the party animals. Perry Como was playing on the phonograph. When my bedtime came around, everybody made a big deal of bidding me goodnight. As each person came near, the smell of cigarette smoke wafted over me. Far from being repelled by it, I thought, "That's what being a grownup is about."

Years later, my folks owned a small restaurant and bar in D.C. My weekend job was to sweep the floor first thing in the morning and keep the ice bins behind the bar filled. After doing that, I could do pretty much whatever I liked: go to the local playground, check out the nearby shops, take in a movie at the theatre across the street or... hang out with the regulars at the bar. Three guesses which one won out. Everybody had a story to tell. There was the boxer whose face showed the aftermath of fifteen years in the ring. There was the short-order cook who tried to teach me how to run a kitchen. There was the waiter who was always in trouble with the cops. (His name was Mulvaney. Once, he was being booked and the cop asked his name. "Swartz", came the reply. "How d'ya spell that?, the cop asked. "M-U-L-V-A-N-E-Y, ya fat bastard!") And there was the very pretty lady who, according to my mother, was "a very bad woman". (Bad she might have been, but, ladies and gentlemen, she had a set of tits suitable for framing!) She took a special interest in yours truly. She smoked black cigarettes with gold filters. Once again, smoke, far from being something to avoid, became a source of very fond memories.

So now I find myself the proprietor of a smoke shop. Go figure.

John Lennon Was Right

"You say you love humanity, but it's people that you just can't stand..."

It's true, it's damn true.
Humanity is noble, ever-evolving, posessed of a higher purpose.
People on the other hand are arrogant, petty, self-righteous and downright stupid.

Herewith are my Do's And Don'ts of The Retail World:

DO
- Call during regular business hours
- Know which shop you're walking into
- Have sufficient funds to transact business
- Finish your cell-phone conversation before entering the shop
- Ask pertinent questions

DON'T
- Bang on the door demanding admittance a half-hour before opening time
- Bring small children and expect the shopkeeper to watch them while you shop
- Expect the shopkeeper to keep other customers waiting while you wander around
- Demand a discount you're not entitled to
- Ask for a refund for merchandise you didn't purchase here
- Use profanity EVER!
- Ask the shopkeeper to break the law ("I left my I.D. at home. Honest!")
- Assume that because the shop has a lounge, you can stay for hours without making a purchase
- Say you know "absolutely nothing" about the merchandise and then berate the shopkeeper's every suggestion
- Attempt to pay with a post-dated, third-party check drawn on a out-of-state bank
- Get angry at the shopkeeper because your credit card was declined
- Come into the shop drunk, stoned or on a crystal meth binge
- Play the race card when you don't get your way
- Steal

Well, there you have it. And in case you were wondering, all of the DON'Ts were prompted by the events
of A SINGLE DAY!

Two From The Vault

The huge numbers of people who read these ramblings of mine have asked, "Hey, you work in a cigar shop. When are you gonna recommend some cigars?"

Well, here goes nuthin'...

Flor de Oliva Maduro Torpedo
Length: 6 1/2
Ring: 52
This was a case of a cigar not really presenting its flavor until the halfway point. When it did, it was slightly chocolate with a nut-like aftertaste. In all fairness, it may have been the fact that I had to repeatedly put this cigar down in order to attend to customers. Having to re-light a cigar again and again definitely takes away from the experience. But, I'll be trying this one again very soon.
The filler and binder are Nicaraguan; the wrapper is a mix of Ecuadoran/Indonesian and Nicaraguan/Connecticut tobacco. These cigars are handmade in Esteli, Nicaragua.
Rating: Two and a half stars

La Vieja Habana Rothchilde Luxo
Length: 5
Ring: 54
This is a surprisingly inexpensive and tasty cigar. It has a vanilla/oak aroma that intensifies gradually.
It also has the advantage of burning very evenly.
The filler is Nicaraguan; the binder a mix of Connecticut and Indonesian tobacco. The wrapper is Brazilian/Ecuadoran. These are handmade in Esteli, Nicaragua.
Rating: Three stars for taste and value