by RAF KATIGBAK

By the time this hits the streets, it will have been about nine days, six hours, 23 minutes and 17 seconds since Montreal bars have become completely non-smoking. For those of you not out the night of the big butt-out, the changeover was, in many ways, quite uneventful.

Opposers of the ban did not hold smoke-ins, did not march on city hall huffing and puffing about basic rights, and did not hurl bricks painted like Export A cartons through local health officials’ luxury sedans. In fact most bars, fearful of fines that could easily add up to $1,000 or more, rigorously enforced the new law, and patrons who wanted to puff down stepped out onto the sidewalk, heads bowed, fingers fumbling clumsily for a pack of matches.

But smokers need not fear anymore. I’ve got an airtight argument that should have us non-smokers getting back to our usual pack-and-a-half of second-hand smoke a night. This time, even non-smokers will have their worlds rocked by such irrefutable evidence against the ban that they themselves will join their carcinogenically-inclined kin in renouncing it.

All smokers need to do is invite Health Minister Philippe Couillard to any dance club in Montreal. Of course, at first he’ll try to argue. “Yes I see, there are much fewer people here,” he’ll say, “but they’ll come back. They need time to adjust.”

Then he’ll remark, “Yes, I know, half the people who are here leave every 15 minutes to go for a smoke, destroying any hope for the DJ to create a decent atmosphere and lock into a groove. But,” he’ll counter, “that just means the DJ must work harder, and everyone will be better off, busting out to some truly quality jams.”

At that point he’ll probably walk around giving everyone high-fives with a self-satisfied face that seems to say, “Hey! I’m happy as a clam, look at how much tar, carbon monoxide and hydrogen cyanide I’m not inhaling right now!”

Then, after about 15 minutes, that smug face will change slightly. It’ll first look confused, then bewildered, and soon it’ll screw up ever so subtly. Then, when he can’t help it anymore, that same face will recoil in horror.

“What is that smell!?!” he’ll scream muffled through his cuff. To which you’ll smugly reply, “That, your honour, is a Montrealer, and we freakin’ stink.”

“Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick!” he’ll undoubtedly scream. “It smells like someone threw up on roadkill and wrapped it in a diaper!”

Yes, many of us are discovering that Montrealers are a foul-smelling bunch. And without that toxic air that reportedly “kills us” with “lung cancer,” we’re now exposed to a fate worse than death: the acrid funk of a notoriously liberal city that prefers things au naturel.

The effect is devastating. Nothing harshes a person’s mellow more than saddling up to a seemingly hot guy or gal who turns out to smell like a grade 8 science fair project on Bacteria and Its Effects on Limburger Cheese.

Speaking of fromage, if we absolutely must ban smoking from bars, can M. Couillard also please call a city-wide moratorium on cutting cheese in public places? It’s bad enough that we have to take in the trunks of funk from denizens of disco-land, plus the decades of stale beer that has soaked into the pores of every bar in the city, but do we need to add an olfactory assault of bowel bombs and one-gun salutes to the mix? Can we be expected to just stand by and let people float air biscuits anytime they want? Heck no!

And I’m not just talking guys here. Attention all females: guess what? The days of trying to convince us your colonic calliope trumpets freshly picked apple blossoms are over. We know your toots don’t smell like roses, they smell like you made a grunt sculpture in your Capris, and you’re not fooling anyone.

But should we fault the bartenders, the state or non-smokers for this foul play? Should clubs establish a free-deo-at-the-door policy? Should the state pass a gas tax on all bean burritos? Or should people just hop in the goddamn shower before they interact with other human beings? Perhaps the bigger question is, should those who have smelt it be left to deal with it?

Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca

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