So I smoked a cigarette for the first time. I figure most people, should they ever elect to indulge such a notorious vice as nicotine, would do so in their teenage years, but that wasn’t the case with me. I waited a little later, till age 23, before I partook, not at the prompt of any devastating happenings in my life, but rather, for the sake of lighthearted and chucklesome experimentation with my equally mischievous older brother.
The Purchase
We hopped out of the truck and made our way into the ESSO station. Neither of us had ever purchased cigarettes before, a point my brother conveyed to the cashier as his eyes darted indecisively from Marlboro to Parliament, from Parliament to Peter Jackson, from Peter Jackson to Canadian Classics. The employee, a brown man in his 50s/60s, was reluctant, and with good reason, to facilitate an initial purchase that to the best of his knowledge could potentially result in insidiously lethal addiction. His cautioning was met with my brother’s reassurance that we were simply doing it for the thrill. Anyways, we ended up settling on a pack of the “NEXT,” brand, which was sold to us with no request of ID. It came to $11.14 or something close to that figure.
Unboxing
I immediately took note of the discouraging warnings that claimed the majority of the surface area on the package, the same package the boasted the cigarette’s “exceptional smooth taste.”
Canada requires %75 of a box's surface area be covered with cautionary labels
Ever since I was a kid, I was fascinated by the irony printed on cigarette boxes, although I am also well aware that government regulations mandate it. On the inside, there was also a little slip of paper titled “It’s never too late…” What proceeded could be summarized as, “can’t say we didn’t warn you.”
The cigarettes looked kinda neat the way the white ends were all stacked together. I took a whiff taking in the aroma of the unlit sticks which were surprisingly pleasant and almost sorta sweet, and fresh. The thing that surprised me the most out of everything I observed on the entire box was the quantity. I’ve always known that addicted smokers could easily go through a pack of cigarettes a day but if someone inquired of me how many cigarettes a pack contained, I would have placed my guess at fifteen. Twenty-five is a lot of cigarettes and works out to an average of just over two cigarettes smoked every hour assuming twelve hours are spent awake. This means those who smoke two packs a day go through about four an hour. That's a lot of smoking.
Indulging
By now we were back at the warehouse standing outside. We laughed as he lit his first before passing me the clear plastic lighter, which I’d already owned prior to the cigarette purchase. I lit mine nervously without taking an actual drag of the smoke, only filling my cheeks cigar style. I took a real drag into my lungs shortly after.
- The taste was not by any means pleasant. Cigarette fumes taste pretty much how they smell. They taste like bitter smoke
- Once I inhaled, I expected to feel a sort of tingling; perhaps a buzz or headrush of some kind. The sensation of a non-acclimated cigarette has been described to me in this manner before by smokers. I felt nothing. I tried taking in deeper drags and holding them in, however this resulted in coughing fits so violent, I nearly vomited as the hot smoke abused my lungs.
- The rate at which the cigarette burned surprised me and the way the red tip crept steadily towards my fingers made me slightly uneasy.
- I eventually found my rhythm, and took moderate draws that I held in briefly before smoothly releasing them, and to be completely honest, few things have made me feel like an edgy, broody badass than smoking a cigarette at night while leaning on a wall, and of all the fictional characters I could’ve imagined myself to be at that moment, none was more fitting than Spike Spiegel himself.
Closing Thoughts
So although cigarette smoking fell short as far as the taste and effect go, it definitely felt cool, and that would almost make it worth adopting it as an occasional treat (and by occasional, I mean veeeeeery occasional), if it wasn’t for the way the smell clings to you. It clings to you like a baby clings to its mother. It takes over your mouth, sticks to your clothes, and sticks your hands so that every time you scratch your cheek, push up your glasses or rub your eyes, you catch a whiff of the burnt tobacco lining your fingertips. It’s not pleasant, and all it takes is one cigarette.
I finished my first one with mixed feelings, and ended up light 4 more throughout the next week or so to follow, none of which I finished, the last couple of which I took one drag before tossing. With each cigarette I lit, I was paranoid that the nicotine was tugging at me and that was the reason I was giving it another attempt however those notions were later disproven. I couldn’t get the same badass feeling out of it anymore, knowing what scent it would leave on me, not to mention the incredible waste of time it was. I have been informed by a couple of individuals since the experience, that the “NEXT” brand is actually the worst and cheapest brand of cigarettes you can buy, but I doubt my result would differ drastically with a different brand. Anyways, fast forward a few weeks later, I still have the pack, there are 19 left. I think my brother may have had one more that day.