Up In Smoke

Okay, so I'm on day three of "bye-bye stogies".

As some of you may know, I'm both a proud cigar smoker and unemployed. These two things do NOT go well together. It is very difficult to be both.

And I knew this once the unemployment thing happened, and knew a time was coming with the cigar thing was going to become unrealistic. It took a surprisingly long time. Having friends that would surprise me out of nowhere - in person or via FedEx - with cigar gifts was both unexpected and ridiculously awesome. Between that happening and money not being as huge of an issue at the start, I was able to mostly continue my cigar lifestyle, with occasional, short gaps. Sometimes these gaps would have no cigars in them, or would be filled, instead, with smaller, less expensive cigars (note that I didn't say "cheap cigars". Once you've switched to the good stuff there's no going back to the liquor store brands). Sometimes not. But I finally hit the wall a few days ago and ran out. Though while I was over at a friend's house just after that, he passed me a couple of great ones (my brand, and even larger than my usual size). So I spread those over the next two days, using each of them at my perfect smoking time of the day - that being around 4:00am, for reasons I'm about to get into. So Thursday night/Friday morning was the last one, and I said, "that's that", and went off to bed.

Haven't had one since, but let me just advise you, in case you didn't know - while they're not near as bad as cigarettes (as I know from experience), there is an addiction factor with cigars. And that means withdrawals. That, in and of itself, is (almost) enough to make one realize that something good for you probably doesn't need to whisper its name in your ear while you're trying to watch TV. I'm used to those withdrawal feelings after years of off-and-on cigar smoking, so I know from experience that it takes me around 48-72 hours to get past the crankiness - which, again, is nothing like the Marlboro crankiness. The tougher part is the lifestyle adjustment change, but I find that, often, change is good, and can lead to a series of other positive changes. Change, like fine tobacco products, can be addictive.

And my smoking lifestyle has become more complicated, anyway. Here's the thing - I'm a patio guy. I'll be out here when the weather's bad, and don't mind bundling up as long as it's not so cold that my laptop is freezing up. But what I wait for all year is that glorious summer season, when I can come out here, light up a smoke, and do my writing, my reading, or just my heavy (or light) thinking, surrounded by the toasty warm air that I dream off all winter long when I'm whining about the chill. If it's daytime and hot out, I'm okay with that. But, better yet, if it's late at night, and the temp is up in the high 60s or low 70s? THAT is my happy place.

Summertime does have its double-edged sword metaphor, though. Unfortunately, it seems I don't live in this complex all by myself.

Last year is when the upstairs guy problem started. I've lived here for over five years now. But until this guy moved in? I'd never given my smoking a second thought, as far as how it would affect anyone above me. I guess I'd just been lucky enough to have a neighbor up there who, like me, just didn't care to open his windows...ever. My luck changed with the new guy last summer. I didn't even realize there was a problem at first. But soon I started noticing the sound of windows shutting up there after I'd lit up. Soon after, those window closings started becoming window slammings. Okay, it was starting to sink in. My thought on the matter was that well, I felt bad about it, but there was nothing stopping him from closing his windows and using the A/C for the thirty to sixty minutes it took me to finish a cigar. So, problem solved? Not really. One day I started hearing a noise on the balcony above me, and couldn't quite figure out what it was. I quickly did. He, or his girlfriend (who I actually think was the one who was offended and all window-slammy), opened the sliding glass door up there, loudly dragged two rotating fans out onto the patio, pointed them outward, and turned both on to attempt to blow my rising smoke away.

Experts in the "subtle" business classify that as a "no, that's not really subtle at all" hint.

So it irked me for a couple of days, because I was clinging indignantly to my "I was here first" sense of entitlement. I griped to some friends, who all universally gave me the "screw him!" back-up on that. But really, come on - in what universe is the guy puffing cigar smoke all over the place, smoke that's going into other people's homes and invading their space, considered to be the victim? Yes, I felt I had a right to enjoy smoking on my patio. But I realized he had every right to be able to open his window without the clearly delicious fragrance of fine Dominican tobacco (what is WRONG with these people and their nasal retardation?) wafting in.

So I worked within the system, trying to be a good neighbor. Feeling like a stalker, I would first go outside - perhaps using getting my mail as an excuse - and take a look up at his window and see if it was open. If not, I felt okay to smoke up. If so, I was okay with that. I could put in my earbuds, turn on my iPod, and head to either end of my building, go around the corner, and enjoy some shade and some away-from-keyboard thinking over whatever I was writing at the time.

As an ironic and fun twist to this, check this out: so a while after this started, with me still feeling kind of resentful at that guy and his woman messing with my life choices, I was outside writing away. I don't think I was even smoking at the time. I heard this guy open his door and start coming down the stairs. Then he stopped, went back up, and came back down the stairs after going back into his apartment. I was doing my usual and avoiding eye contact when I saw him start coming toward my patio. I looked up, and he was standing there with, of all things, a couple of cigars in his hand. Friendly as you please, he told me that a friend of his had given him those some time ago, and he wasn't going to smoke them, so he thought I might enjoy them. And just like that, all my grrr-that-guy resentment went away. It's amazing what one unexpected act of kindness can do to defuse a situation. And I like to think that maybe that was his way of saying he'd noticed my not smoking when his windows were open, and appreciated it. Maybe.

Anyway, that was last summer. Cut to THIS summer's problems.

So after losing my job, I figured, well, at least I'd have some good patio/writing/smoking time. And that was working swell for a while. Then, in classic good-news-bad-news tradition, the weather started getting better. I should also mention that I noticed that my upstairs neighbor was suddenly home ALL THE TIME. I know this mainly because of his vintage Prelude that's parked right in sight of my patio. He would just never leave. For a while I thought he was some kind of work-from-home guy (I do know that he's a musician, so maybe he made a living at that somehow?), but soon realized he was probably unemployed like me. Which was too bad. For him AND for me.

See, as soon as the weather started improving, his windows started opening again. Which led me to my stalker thing again of always having to go outside and see if they were open or closed. And they were open a lot. So I started doing my thing again of going to my alternate spots elsewhere in the complex. But suddenly, that had its own problems. Now he wasn't the ONLY one opening his window. At the evening spot I prefer - at the front of my building, under some trees, with the complex driveway between me and the next building over - I picked up some new neighbors, too. I didn't even think about this until one night while I was out there, with a podcast playing in my earbuds, and I saw some guy over there come walking out his front door and stand there. I kind of caught him out of the corner of my eye, and didn't want to look right at him, but he seemed to be looking right at me - you know, that kind of thing where if a guy gets cut off in traffic, he feels the need to speed up and look at the person that cut him off, just so...well, so the other guy knows he's been looked at, I guess? Soon he went back inside, and I happened to pause my podcast, just in time to hear a window slamming. Oops. Okay, I'd have to watch out for his window as well.

Soon I found that the window on other the other side of the building from him was a problem, too. The miraculously mild summer weather we started out with this year seemed to be inspiring all kinds of folks to enjoy the breeze. I diverted over to my other alternative, which is the back of my building. This is a little grassy spot, also under a couple of trees, at the entrance to a couple of apartments. It's also right next to the low brick wall that people climb over to get to the parking lot of the strip-mall next door, either to get to their cars (some prefer to park there) or, more often, to walk to the liquor store for a beverage. I'm cool with using this spot during the day, but prefer not to at night. Why? Because it's a parking lot of a liquor store. Really, would you want to be sitting out there next to that in the middle of the night? It's a lot that's also a favorite stopping point for impressively hallucinatory homeless folks.

Now the windows of the apartments back there didn't seem to ever open. That was good. However, if ever I was out there when this one woman, and her son, came home? She would pause and give me what clearly a very dirty look. O...kay. Since there was no window problem, I didn't really see the issue. But a couple of those looks prompted me to maybe find another spot. One night, around 1:30am, I went all the way around to the other side of the complex, next to an iron gate that our garbage men use to exit with their truck each Monday morning. From there you can see the back of the strip mall, which, at that particular spot, is the back of the corner bar (yes, a liquor store AND a bar). That was about the only other place I could find with no open windows that night, so I made use of it, telling myself to keep an eye out for shenanigans on the other side of the gate (there's the occasional fight or...other alley stuff behind the bar). After a few minutes, though, I spotted a large guy in shorts and a tee shirt come ambling quickly from behind one of the apartment buildings, seeming to be heading for the nearby dumpster. I relaxed. No big deal. Probably just one of my neighbors, needing to throw out some forgotten trash. He disappeared behind the dumpster. Then I heard him in the bushes behind me and right near me - violently puking his guts out.

Okay. Gave up on THAT spot.

Recently, I was down to the brick wall spot again, and it was evening, maybe 10:00 or 10:30pm. I saw the evil-eye lady come home, and felt another evil-eye. She went into her place. I had some music playing in my ears, but caught a shadow about a minute or so later, and then saw her in my peripheral vision as she came back out. I paused the music and pulled out my earbud, turning to address her, as she was just standing there.

"Is there some reason you come out here to smoke?" she asked me, bluntly.

Uh...well, it was a question I could answer, though I was a little lost on the reason for it, so I did - I explained to her about open windows in the complex, and me not wanting to bother anyone with the smoke, and me not being able to use my patio until very late at night to smoke on. I asked her, honestly and quite politely, if that was a problem. I couldn't, at the time, see why. She went on to explain that all kind of people are hanging around out there in that corner, and there are drug dealers doing business there, and she didn't want any of that around her son. She also stated she guessed it was okay if I was just smoking cigars. That's when we got down to it - she had assumed I was smoking something ELSE, which is why I was back there (near all the drug dealers) doing it secretly. I HOPE that I properly convinced her that I'm NOT getting high behind our building like a high schooler, and that I'm her middle-aged neighbor that she's seen, plenty of times, cigar smoking on his patio as she's walked by. But I can't quite be sure. She's kind of hard to read, as she's one of those people that just kind of looks pissed off all the time.

But really, my main problem all comes down to this - if not for my upstairs neighbor and his open windows, I would be able to do as I had all winter, and come outside with my trusty laptop, whatever time of day I pleased, light up an Upmann and get creative. But things got even worse this summer with him. As the weather stayed kind, only reaching highs in the 80s, or sometimes lower, he would leave those windows open twenty-four hours a day. This kind of confirmed my belief in his unemployment. I figure he really can't afford to use his A/C. I sympathize (though, really, I rarely used mine when I did have plenty of extra dough laying around). But where does that leave Mr. Downstairs (me) when it comes to EVER being able to smoke and write at the same time again, at least before winter comes back around?

Aside from the occasional lucky breaks when I've seen him get in his car and head to the gym (the shorts, sleeveless tee shirt and the towel around his neck when he goes leads me to that conclusion), allowing me to grab a smoke in the later afternoon, my patio smoking time had gotten cut down to right around 4:00am. This is what I figured out to be about the time that if his windows happen to still be open, he's probably going to sleep through the smell while I'm out here. So I've used this as my final writing shift of the day (late-night lifestyle guy that I've become), but it's always, still, with a little bit of worry. Always at the back of my mind is the anticipation of hearing that window slam up there, or the fans being dragged back out, either of which are trumpets sounding out the announcement that I'm a BAD NEIGHBOR! And you know, I really don't WANT to be a bad neighbor. Hopefully, all this effort I go through (that no one really knows about...) shows that I want to be fair and come to an arrangement that works for everyone.

Well, problem solved. I finally hit the point, as I said, where I could no longer justify spending cigar money, even at the awesome online rate I would get. I have just now (almost exactly) hit the 72-hour mark, so the addiction blackboard is wiped clean again. The next step now becomes re-arranging my creative schedule and getting it used to writing and being on the patio again without a smoldering cigar. It can certainly be done. It's all just a matter of reconditioning. Considering that it's 5:20am and it's right about 70 degrees out here right now? I'd call that incentive enough.

However...

Cut to last night. I came out here to work on a writing project. I wasn't necessarily in the greatest mood, either. But I made myself come out anyway, reminding myself that the important thing is actually sitting in front of the computer with fingers on keys, even if the work's not really flowing. So out here I sat, with the weather quite nice. Yesterday, after all, was quite a scorcher, as anyone living in Sacramento can attest to. As I stared at my monitor, doing battle with a disagreeable paragraph, suddenly, I heard a loud noise behind me. It shocked me because it's one I hadn't heard in quite some time. For a year, in fact.

Last night, just at the time when I finally stop the cigars, the guy upstairs decides it's time to finally turn on his air conditioner.

I could have decked the son of a bitch. But I'm sure that was just the addiction me talking.

So the weekend I end up quiting, after a couple of months of fighting with the air needs of my whole complex, changing my hours, getting the stink-eye, being accused selling dime bags to high school kids out behind the building, AND getting vomited at...the weather finally changes. As of right now, the neighbor upstairs still has the A/C running (apparently he now just lets it run all night), and a quick check seems to indicate that there is not one open window anywhere else in the complex around me.

Irony SUCKS.

I just wanted to point that out.