I've been hoppin' mad the past couple of days because my hallway smells like a casino, and it's all the fault of the 520 Club.
You see, once there was a great little bar called Steam Alley in the space now occupied by the 520 Club. It was very low key, had pool tables, foozball, a jukebox, basketball, and air hockey. It was very relaxed and casual. It was comfortable. And best of all, as is the law now in Rhode Island for bars and restaurants, it was smoke-free.
To say I hate cigarrette and cigar smoke would be nothing short of a vast understatement. I abhor it. I have always felt this way, all my life, even during the brief period of time in college when I tried to smoke cigarretes myself. I couldn't do it.
My mother smoked Winston's for as long as I can recall - from the time she was a teenager until she died of adenocarcinoma of the lung at age 48. I recall feeling suffocated with her ever-present stifling second hand smoke all throughout my time with her. It never was something I could get used to. It never bothered me any less.
I hate feeling like I can't catch my breath. I remember one time when I was about 11 years old eating dinner at a friend's house and feeling like I couldn't breathe - I couldn't get air in my lungs. My friend's mother kept asking me, "Stephanie, are you all right? Are you having trouble breathing?" and I kept saying I was fine, I am fine.
I am sure my lungs have been damaged, and it really pisses me off. Even now I can feel it - it's a rare day that I feel like I can breathe easily.
So, there is a very good reason why cigar and cigarrette smoke wafting up into my home from some asshole who opened a club most probably as a write-off and playpen for himself and his wise guy friends set me off. It lights a fire in me.
I'll bet he had some lawmaker who owed him a favor arrange for him to obtain a fucking permit for smoking. Presumably it's because he also sells cigars. I say, fuck that! This is home to many people and we should have more of a voice than one streetside bar, as collectively we own more of the building.
But someone let this happen. Looked the other way. That's the way things work here. Not that someone as unimportant and unconnected as myself could ever prove it, but it really is Soprano-esque here in RI. Shit like this happens every day.
I feel as if I am under siege in my own damn home. My home!!! Your playpen, but MY HOME.
And the condo board is useless and impotent; it's president doesn't even live here - how invested can he be?
I am all riled up about this because it strikes a nerve with me, because noxious fumes from second hand smoke negatively affects one's health and the value of property, because I feel trapped in my own home, because I feel powerless, and because I know very well how slowly anything changes around here unless you have political power.
I'm mad as hell. I want to live in a house.
You see, once there was a great little bar called Steam Alley in the space now occupied by the 520 Club. It was very low key, had pool tables, foozball, a jukebox, basketball, and air hockey. It was very relaxed and casual. It was comfortable. And best of all, as is the law now in Rhode Island for bars and restaurants, it was smoke-free.
To say I hate cigarrette and cigar smoke would be nothing short of a vast understatement. I abhor it. I have always felt this way, all my life, even during the brief period of time in college when I tried to smoke cigarretes myself. I couldn't do it.
My mother smoked Winston's for as long as I can recall - from the time she was a teenager until she died of adenocarcinoma of the lung at age 48. I recall feeling suffocated with her ever-present stifling second hand smoke all throughout my time with her. It never was something I could get used to. It never bothered me any less.
I hate feeling like I can't catch my breath. I remember one time when I was about 11 years old eating dinner at a friend's house and feeling like I couldn't breathe - I couldn't get air in my lungs. My friend's mother kept asking me, "Stephanie, are you all right? Are you having trouble breathing?" and I kept saying I was fine, I am fine.
I am sure my lungs have been damaged, and it really pisses me off. Even now I can feel it - it's a rare day that I feel like I can breathe easily.
So, there is a very good reason why cigar and cigarrette smoke wafting up into my home from some asshole who opened a club most probably as a write-off and playpen for himself and his wise guy friends set me off. It lights a fire in me.
I'll bet he had some lawmaker who owed him a favor arrange for him to obtain a fucking permit for smoking. Presumably it's because he also sells cigars. I say, fuck that! This is home to many people and we should have more of a voice than one streetside bar, as collectively we own more of the building.
But someone let this happen. Looked the other way. That's the way things work here. Not that someone as unimportant and unconnected as myself could ever prove it, but it really is Soprano-esque here in RI. Shit like this happens every day.
I feel as if I am under siege in my own damn home. My home!!! Your playpen, but MY HOME.
And the condo board is useless and impotent; it's president doesn't even live here - how invested can he be?
I am all riled up about this because it strikes a nerve with me, because noxious fumes from second hand smoke negatively affects one's health and the value of property, because I feel trapped in my own home, because I feel powerless, and because I know very well how slowly anything changes around here unless you have political power.
I'm mad as hell. I want to live in a house.
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