Today Polly & I headed into Burbank to see a flick. We were there plenty early and decided to walk and peruse the shops, no shortage of restaurants there. High occupancy and a few businesses that no longer were in.
When I walk, I like to smoke my cigar. When I drive. . . I have even been known to enjoy one in the shower or bath. As we walked I noticed a NO SMOKING sign in a business window. A few minutes later I see another one, this time I look a little closer and notice that it says that you can’t smoke anywhere in downtown Burbank! What is this, I thought! Nowhere? I guess the voters have spoken. . . again. I puff my cigar as though the sign means everyone but me. As a magician, I enjoy an inflated sense of “con”fidence, especially when it comes to concealing a lit cigar. So, we’re walking and I’m smoking and enjoying a picture perfect California day and I see another one of those pesky signs. I try and think nothing of it but BLAM another one and another. On almost every store front and every lamppost. I was divided, on the one hand; I have always enjoyed challenging authority. On the other hand, I had a feeling that if I was caught, I would be issued a ticket and I certainly didn’t want that. Upon final evaluation, I decided that since I had given it as much thought as I had, I really wasn’t enjoying the experience anymore. I delicately placed my cigar nub on the NO SMOKING sign and walked away.
Later I felt like a pussy, when if fact it was just a good decision.