Out of the Humidor
From the Print Edition:
Demi Moore, Autumn 96
(continued from page 5)
At my office, I have a large cigar box with a Credo in it that sits on top of my desk (I don't have a humidor yet although I am looking for a nice-sized one.) I usually have a few cigars in this box and I am amazed at the amount of people that come by my desk just to "peek inside." I love the look on people's faces when I show them the real big ones like 54 ring Churchills or presidentes. It is definitely a big thrill.
On Friday of last week, some friends and I stopped to have a drink and smoke a few fine cigars. On this night we chose a "gentlemen's club." In Austin, these clubs are very receptive to cigar smokers. In fact, I feel very comfortable with a big 50-plus cigar at these places. Despite their bad reputations, we Texans conduct quite a lot of business in these clubs. This night proved to be a disaster (but not for me).
Upon entering, we were greeted in the usual manner. We were given a private table in a VIP section (the only way to go). The table next to us was empty. We took our places and ordered our first round. It was not long before all of us were puffing away passionately on our various cigars (we all have different tastes) and that the unoccupied table next to us became occupied. To this we paid no attention.
What happened next was every cigar smoker's worst nightmare. While in the middle of a smooth draw on my Arturo Fuente Classic, a hand tapped me on the shoulder. An angry looking guy with a cigarette in his mouth asked if we could put out our awful smelling cigars. He claimed the smoke was causing him to choke! I was shocked. I was beside myself with wonder. "Excuse me," I retorted, "is that not a smoke-exuding instrument in your mouth?" He became aggressive and threatened to harm me if we did not take immediate action. He then stood up (along with his three burly comrades). I remained seated. "Would you care to smoke one?" I asked. I then held out a Classic to him. He swatted it away like a fly. I was steaming at this time. This man (I am not exaggerating) then began to roll up his sleeves. It was then that my friend recommended we find another table.
That was not necessary, because the club's doormen (bouncers) grabbed this ape and escorted him and his friends to the door, refusing them entry to the club ever again. We were then given a round of free drinks and our choice of cigars from the club's private humidor. It turns out that the manager is an avid cigar smoker and took it upon himself to fight for our rights as smokers. For that, I am thankful.
David M. Kennedy
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