Nicotine Inducement While Flying
Smoking and the monkey stigma that follows is embarrassing. I remember how I felt when I used to smoke around others; I felt terrible, and I hated the fact that I would stink after that cigarette break. Even though others were smoking in the group, I still thought that I was doing something wrong. I was destroying my health, and I was not living a productive life. The hell with the self-loathing, I love smoking!
Here I was about to take a flight, a 13-hour trip overseas. And the only thing I could think about was having a cigarette through my travels. I did not care about packing, as far as clothes being a concern. And I did not even plan to budget for the vacation. My mind’s occupation was on how I could get nicotine flowing through the bloodstream while in flight.
There I was boarding Jordanian Airlines in my shorts because it was a hot summer day. I could feel the anxiety and flying phobia roaming around my body and mind. For the first time in my life, I felt like a crack head that could not find a dope pusher. I decided to hide the cigarettes in my underwear. I did not care about getting caught; those flying agents would have to find them—where the sun does not shine.
The Heat Is On
Two hours into the flight, anxiety, and addiction calling my name. I decided to go to the washroom. Now, I was in and protected by a silver plated metal door; which was the only barrier between me and the world. There I was sitting on the toilet seat and contemplated how I can beat the system. The pocket lighter created magic; I did not care what the repercussions were, just needed a fix.
As long the nicotine high was living in my head was the ultimate goal. The smoke cleared and proceeded to exit the washroom. The door opened to reality, and there she was standing there like an investigator. She looked at me with an evil stare and proceeded to take my place.
As I walked back, I sat in my seat. The same lady came out of the washroom and rushed down the aisle to speak to the flying attendant. I watched as inconspicuous as I can be. They talked to each other. And then the unthinkable happened; the lady pointed in my direction and was still conversing with the flight attendant. Oh Lord, I am in trouble.
The flight attendant approached me and said, “Sir, you are not allowed to smoke in the washroom.”
I look at her, and I blatantly reply “I did not smoke in the washroom.” She argued, “Sir, we have someone saying that you left the washroom and it smelled like cigarette smoke.” I just smiled, “Maam with all due respect, I smoked a pack of cigarettes before I got on the airplane, and that is the reason I smell like cigarettes. Plus, it was scorching in Chicago, so all the nicotine in my body is coming out.”
“Sir, the local authorities will talk to you when you land at our destination.”
Now, I am nervous thinking about what the Jordanian police are going to do with me. We arrive in Jordan. I walked off the plane and headed to get my luggage. And here comes the Jordanian foot patrol. They grabbed me by my arms and took me downstairs to some dark room at the airport station. They immediately asked me to give it up, and I handed them the Marlboro lights that I wrapped in a plastic bag. One officer took a cigarette out and fired away. He looked at me and with a strong accent said, “Next time you come to our country, you bring fucking Newport; with extra menthol. Now, get out of here you damn tourist and enjoy your stay!”