There's None in My Raincoat

There's None in My Raincoat

In my life I have been accused of many things…and most of the times, I can say…Guilty as Charged.  But what happened Friday night at Yankee Stadium caught me off guard…and it wasn’t the first time.

During the inning break, my buddy and I bolted to the bathroom.  At the exit of the Men’s room there is a family facility, which for convenience sake, I have used before.  The door was left wide open and my companion offered me the unoccupied.  As I exited, I was confronted by security.  Wait here.  She ducked her head in the john and quickly emerged.  Did I pee on the seat?  Did I leave the seat up?   I was ordered to offer up my ticket.  I had no idea what I did wrong.  She said she smelled smoke.  I responded, maybe she should call the fire department.  Not humored at all, she shot back “No Sir, you were smoking in there weren’t you.” I flashed back to childhood like Anton Ego did when he tasted Remy’s Ratatouille.

I never understood smoking, but I never lectured those who do.  However growing up with my Mom and Step Dad, cigarettes were a hotter commodity for them than for incarcerated individuals. Our freezer was filled with cartons of the carcinogens as if smoking prohibition was on the horizon.  No room for chicken or chops, we needed to keep the Bel-Air and Pall Mall fresh.  I don’t think I ever saw them kiss only observing their ritual of touching cigarettes to ignite.  When they professed they held a flame for each other, I didn’t know it was from a Bic.  I did not take my meals in the kitchen, rather I retired to my room.  Even at the dinner table my parents smoked like North Jersey.  It was not my ideal idea of smoked meats.  Others wondered how I did not become a smoker.  This actually drove me further from it as possible.  Even back then, I was astonished when I became a kid accused.

I was in the 6^th grade and with it came a yearly ritual.  The graduating grade schoolers would go on a week long trip.  It was the first time many a kid had been parentless, let alone out of the nest.  The destination was upstate New York and we would have a week packed with events.  The final evening was skit night at the lodge and I was the last one out of our cabin…actually the last one out of all the cabins.  Reminds me of a line from Stripes where Sergeant Hulka approached Bill Murray:  “I noticed you are always last.”  Murray responds with “I am pacing myself”.  Well, for those who know me, apparently all my life I have been pacing myself.

As I headed in the frozen darkness towards the lodge, I wanted to scribe a few facts in the journal I was keeping.  Hmm, maybe someone should have directed me towards a writing career…Guidance Counselor anyone?  I spotted a spotlight off of one of the barns and stood under it like I was up on a stage.  I placed my mini-golf like pencil in my mouth so I could remove my mittens.  I thumbed through the book to the place were I left off.  Then I heard it through the darkness.  “Hey, Kid…come over here”.  I was more annoyed than apprehensive, I was already late and still needed to jot down my thoughts.  It was a counselor and he inquired, “Where are they?”, like it was some kind of code and I needed the proper response to pass.  I had no idea what he was talking about so I offered no answer.  I half expected his next inquiry to be “Is it safe?”  Miffed at my silence he finally asked if I was smoking.  What?  I thought maybe I failed to leave the smell of my house at home.  He asked for the contraband, but I could not offer up what I did not have.  I was frisked.  Hmm, no Amber Alerts back then.  Not getting what he wanted…well, at least I hope he didn’t…he was pissed off and let me pass.  He said I must have ditched them in the woods.  I finally arrived at the lodge, tepid and tardy.  I found a seat near my friend and he offered up one of his gems, “It’s cold as balls out there…I was blowing smoke out of my mouth and nads”.  He always ended everything with "and nads".  While I was a little concerned of what medical malady could have his testicles steaming, it was the former that helped me solve the smoking situation.  What the cantankerous counselor had seen under the light that night, was a pencil in my mouth and the cold smoke of my breathe.

Having that flashback subside…I found I was still standing before my Stadium accuser.  She had my ticket in hand and was stamping it for a smoking offense.  I could not convince her otherwise.

Apparently where there is smoke, there is Mike smoking…