This morning on my way in, I was subjected to second hand smoke. I hate it! Sorry for those who are addicted especially those who are young enough to know better . . . but I had to walk behind this witch puffing away. Her smoke traveling behind her, hitting me in the face. It reminded me of the time, this young man was at the train station ranting and raving about someone stealing his book. He had long blong, dirty hair and was wearing a Waffle House uniform, I'll never eat there again. Anyway, he didn't look like a student, unless he was attending a school that Puck (that MTV Real World guy from long ago) was teaching. Anyway, he was talking to himself when I arrived and I immediately tried to hang around the other clumps of people waiting for the train. I didn't know his books had been stolen until he was confronted by a woman for smoking. "Don't you know this is a no smoking area!" He looked shocked, then quickly recoved, ignored the sign she pointed to. "Fuck that! My books were stolen. I just spent over $150 for those dang things. Somebody needs to do something." She wasn't moved. "You aren't supposed to be smoking down here. I'm going to get the police." She turned to leave. Everyone seemed started by her boldness because it appeared that no one wanted to confront the young man. I mean really, he looked like something that had survived . . . he didn't look like a nice person and on top of that he was talking to himself when most of us arrived. Throwing up his hands in the air, kicking concrete walls and such. We, the clump of folks waiting patiently for the train, just wanted to leave. And luckily, the train was in the horizon.
"WAIT!" he yelled after the woman, wanting to reason, plea one more time. I figured he'd just put the cigarette out and wait for the cops. At least he could file a report for the books that had been stolen. But the woman didn't wait, even though she missed the train. But he didn't. He boarded with us, the clump of people too afraid to tell him to put out his damn cigarette. He boarded the train as if he was following us. He picked up mumbling again but this time, in addition to complaining about the stolen books, he added "that damn b . . . bitch," he said with his best John Rocker accent. I heard what he almost said, as well as the rest of the people on the crowded train. He almost said "black bitch," but reverted to stuttering the "bbbb" of black and saying bitch instead.
I wonder if anyone has ever sued big tobacco for second hand smoke health related problems? I wonder why there are never any Marta police officers around when you need them?
