Julie and the Marlboro Man

By the time I left Utah 5 years ago to head back north, I must admit that I had become accustomed to certain things. And some of them were things to which I was most happy to claim as things I loved most about the Beehive State. One of the top ones? The whole clean air/no smoking thing. It was so refreshing to be able to walk into a restaurant, inhale deeply and not develop lung cancer on the spot. Unfortunately, you couldn't say the same about walking outside during the inversions, but I digress. Smokers existed, and I personally knew several of them, but for the most part they hid in corners and parking lots, their eyes darting furtively about as they waited for someone to begin a pseudo coughing fit as a not-so-covert suggestion that they find a new place to light up. Like Asia, for instance.

When I moved to Big Sky Country, I was not a little bit stunned to see smokers standing about actually letting people see them puff away. And, not only did they not scurry off when I approached, they would actually continue smoking and blow it in my general direction. I would go into a restaurant and immediately catch a strong whiff of eau du Camel and was the unfortunate victim, on more than one occasion, of having my Guadalajara beans and rice bear the ever-so-faint aroma of Winston. Part of the issue in restaurants was that they could actually have smoking and non-smoking (yeah, that happens) sections or, if the restaurant happened to be attached to one of the 749,000 casinos we have here (not the good kind of casinos they have in Vegas, mind you), the smoke would billow in from the bank of poker machines.

In the last couple of years, however, Montana has passed clean indoor air acts which have eased the problem, if not entirely erased it. And while you still see smokers, it truly is not as common as it once was.

But before you think that my work here is done (because obviously I have so much to do with Montana legislation) I must tell you what I viewed on my commute home this evening.

Going down Broadwater, one of the sort-of main thoroughfaires in our little city, I noted that several cars in my lane (the right) moved over to the left slightly as we approached a certain street. From a distance, I could see a bicyclist waiting at an intersection, and thought to myself that the other drivers were simply being polite as to ensure his safety.

As I came upon him, however, I saw why they were affording him wide berth. The gentleman, who appeared not to have been to a Great Clips in quite some time (or, for that matter, a Bath & Body...or just Bath) was perched upon the seat, smoking. As one might presume, I did not support his life choice, but as his bicycle was not edging out into the traffic lane, was not exactly compelled to pull into the left-hand lane in order to avoid the appearance of him. Until I also noted that in his hand was a red plastic gas can in which liquid was easily discernible...

Yep. Let it sink in.

And people wonder how we keep our population so low here...