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of tobacco and women

As one of the handful of employees who smoke at my job, I spend a fair amount of time out in the recreation area by myself.  On decent days, I can do some of my work out there, so that can be reasonably productive.  I also get a lot of client interaction time, as a lot of them will be out there as well.  Smoking with co-workers is a bit trickier, as the few of us left aren’t always free at the same time.

Actually, smoking with co-workers is a lot like dating in high school.  If you aren’t going steady with someone, you spend a lot of time checking to see if people are willing to go out, but not actually interacting much.  (OK, maybe that was just me, in high school, as I was too busy accumulating real life horror stories for my book “Fear of Women” to actually date.)

These days, having nicotine buddies isn’t a big deal for me, except that as the patriarch of the tobacco clan, I have certain social obligations.  Thankfully, I’m better (marginally) at social interaction than I was in high school.  And, being rejected by a smoking buddy isn’t as debilitating as, say, getting dumped at prom.

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