Smoke Signals

I asked my client/boss, C, "What's up with the mellow yellow in the bathroom? And the cigar smoke....?"

She responded, "Ugh, I know. Those guys are gross." She was referring to the 2 managers of the building, whose office was connected to said bathroom. "They think they're 'saving the Earth' by not flushing their pee down. Who wants to look at that frothy mess?" She paused. "The cigar smoke? That's just what they do. It's been going on forever."

I looked down at the floor and got back to work. I figured finding a toilet bowl full of dark yellow bubbly pee every time I went to the bathroom was definitely less disturbing than the cigar smoke. The thick smoke filled their office and my lungs and nostrils every time I walked by or through. Headache alert! A few angry questions sprung up in my mind: how are they able to smoke smelly cancer causing cigars in a work place? Isn't this California? Don't we have a law against that?

Another female Catering Ho guffawed when I mentioned the cigar smoke. S said, "You think they give a shit that it bothers you? Oh please." No nonsense all the way. Guess any hopes of sisterhood banding together for the sake of our health wasn't gonna happen anytime soon. These gals weren't aware of my bun in the oven just yet, either.

In bed that night, I asked Oscar what to do. He sighed, "I'm not sure, hon. It sounds like you're stuck."

"I really like working there. It's fun. But the cigar smoke? It gives me such a headache. And the baby...." I added, "I just can't believe this is happening in 2007. I don't know if I can stay there."

"Well," he said in a resigned tone.

I had to try just once to beg and cajole my case. Bank on charm and flirting. I knocked and peeked into the office of Big Cigar Smoker #1 the next morning. I cringed while wondering what was behind the wooden door.

"Yes?" he said. "Come in." I sighed before entering. Thankfully, he hadn't fired up the cigar just yet.

I said in my brightest and most friendly voice, "Hello." Pause. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Help me out. I'm allergic to cigar smoke." I avoided looking at his filthy ash tray, "And it's really, really hard for me when there's smoke around. Can you help me by... not smoking when I'm here?"

He looked at me. There was a long pause. I hoped he wasn't about to erupt in anger over my request. I kept a smile glued on my face, eyes pleading. He said in a dull voice, "Okay, yeah," and avoided eye contact.

"I can bring a doctor's note or something," I added. What the fuck was I saying?

He answered, "No, that's fine," and gave a meek smile. I thanked him and gave one last smile back. I was THRILLED. What a relief. I was also somewhat shocked that the exchange was pretty easy and straightforward.

An hour and a half later, his boss called me aside. "Mary, right? You work for C?"

"Yes," I responded, puffing my more-ample-than-usual chest out a bit.

"I'm told the smoke makes you sick?" he said, in a gruff but friendly voice.

I shrugged a little (again, what is wrong with me? Why was I making it so tough to ask for no smoke?), and said, "Yes, it gives me bad headaches."

"OK, well. I'll tell the guys, everyone, that they have to smoke outside."

"Thank you so much," I said. "I really appreciate it."

The only reminder of the smoke is the empty and dusty ash tray I spot on my way to the bathroom, where the mellow yellow frothy pee inevitably waits. I hold my nose, stand back and flush the toilet with my foot (shoe on!) before sitting. I'll take your pee over cigar smoke anytime! Better to count my blessings and not rock the boat too much.

Comments

[cookiecrumb]

Aarrrgh! Men. Can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em.

[Mary/Jalapeno Girl]

Cookie Crumb,
You said it best!