It seems there is always someone in my life who is giving me a hard time for smoking. The latest addition to the list is my Ph.D. supervisor. When he found out last week that I smoke he told me in a very fatherly tone that he was disappointed in me. At a complete loss, all I could do was shamefully apologize. He caught me smoking yet again a few days later and shook his head, muttering “so disappointing, so disappointing.” Somehow it was even worse than hearing it from my actual parents, who, incidentally, gave up lecturing me about it years ago.
But if there is anything that will actually encourage me to quit it will be the alarm system at my house. It is set up so that every time you open a door it beeps and tells you which door was just opened. So every time I go outside to smoke it says “beeeeeep. back door.” This always makes me think of The Doors’ song “Back Door Man” and I immediately feel like I am doing something dirty. Sometimes it’s a delicious kind of dirty feeling. At other times it’s just plain shameful. It’s like having a little electronic watch dog around.
