T+157 Hours

Into the Sixth Day
The Mighty Tiff and I had a discussion (actually I "discussed" as she became the latest victim of my nicorosis, more commonly known as the "withdrawal-induced I'm-talking-and-I-can't-shut-up syndrome") about the motivations for quitting smoking and more important the motivations for staying quit. She pointed out that the cost savings alone might be enough for a few gallons of gas. And after spending $81 to fill my truck up shortly after this conversation, I'm convinced she might be right. But I'd already done some rough calculations of just how much I've spent supporting local agriculture over the years. And the results went something like this:
The cost savings alone, adjusted for inflation over the last 33 years, I've estimated would allow me to take at least a year off with pay. Then there's the savings on hotel rooms and rental cars (when you don't have to pay the extra cleaning fees or pay extra for the "smoking option"). And lets not even get into the advantages of not having air marshalls eyeballing you the whole trip on long flights because the nic-fits have you twitching like a ... twitching... guy. Or not missing the asshole from accounting getting so plowed he does a two-and-a-half with a full twist into the punchbowl at the office Christmas party because *you* were outside having a smoke when you could've been getting the $10,000 footage for America's Funniest Videos.

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I'm slowly and steadily getting to the point now where the anxiety, the excess energy and the naked craving is almost tolerable. (The Ricola's have turned out to be pretty effective -- actually much more than I thought they'd be. In case any cessation fence-sitters are looking for suggestions.) But every now and then, something happens that brings the agitation roaring back like a stock car making a perfect exit from Turn 4. Today that something took the form of an accidental fire alarm. We occasionally have fire drills in our building, usually preceded in the morning by an agency-wide email saying "We have a fire drill scheduled for today". (I truly wonder sometimes.) Today however, the alarm was triggered by the guys repairing one of the building's two elevators. Like good little employees, we trooped out of the building to our appointed assembly areas, stood around for about five minutes and then were told "It was a false alarm, come on back in." Disappointed that we wouldn't have the customary half-hour break in the routine -- especially since today was some of the nicer weather we've had lately -- we returned to our normal duty stations.

There was only one small problem.

The fire alarm was still blaring.

I'm not kidding. They expected us to get back to our business and simply ignore the klaxon going off over our heads. This alarm apparently must be disengaged by the fire department once it is triggered. And the fire department hadn't arrived yet.

I was not amused.

And as three minutes ticked by I became less amused. At the five minute mark, I found myself rocking back and forth in my chair, eyes beginning to glaze. At eight minutes I told my supervisor in as calm a voice as I could manage, "Rick, I'm going outside for the safety of my co-workers." (Fortunately, my supervisor is cool that way.)

The alarm eventually shut up, but the rest of my day was pretty well shot after that. It took two packages of Lance Grilled Cheese on Captain's Wafers and another bag of Limited Edition M&Ms to bring me back to Low Earth Orbit.

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So as I trek toward that magical 7th Day mark (6:00pm this evening people, mark your calendars) I leave you with this question. Why is it that when I talk dirty to a woman it's considered harrassment, but when a woman talks dirty to me it costs $2.99 a minute?

I'm out. Peace!Stumble This!