Stink-Foot

Yesterday, I went to a job interview at an office that shares a space with Cigar Aficionado Magazine and there is nothing like leaving your own office in the middle of the work day to go sit in another office. Change of scenery, you know what I’m saying. As I was waiting in the front room, three men emerged from one of the offices, puffing on cigars. They could’ve cared less about the smoking ban, as though because they were of a certain age, they were exempted from the ban. But why wouldn’t they smoke in the waiting area of a cigar magazine? It makes perfect sense. They sat down with me, all jolly and puffing away, and offered me a cigar. Who wouldn’t love a cigar on a Wednesday afternoon to lessen some pre-interview jitters? They cut the tip off for me and lit it. I’ve never smoked a cigar before but I tell you what, friends, you’re not supposed to nurse that shit. Maybe if I’d read Cigar Aficionado on a regular basis, or, I dunno, paid attention to anybody smoking a cigar, I would know that you’re not supposed to inhale it like you would a joint or a regular cigarette. Because then you would feel like puking. The three businessmen got a real kick out of me coughing my brains out. “How old are you? Steve, I think you just gave a cigar to a seventeen-year-old!” They couldn’t stop laughing and the receptionist put down her nail file ((i didn’t know that girls still used those)) and she joined them. Everybody was laughing it up. I’m so funny when I’m choking on my own exhaust. When it was finally time for my meeting, I lacked the amount of pent-up confidence I usually have going into an interview. After all, I wouldn’t hire somebody who’d made it to the age of 24 without knowing the proper way to smoke a cigar.