Living in a uni residence has its interesting moments. This evening, I had just cooked myself a nice omelette and was sitting down to dinner, the fork half way to my mouth, when I heard a knock at the door. Three people were standing there, two girls and a guy, a mix of concern and embarrassment on their faces. After a brief exchange of bonsoirs the guy stepped forward and launched into an explanation about a packet of cigarettes, a friend out on the street and the fact that things hadn’t gone as planned. In short, instead of reaching the ground, the cigarettes he’d thrown had landed on the part of the building that juts out below my window.
Of course, I let them all in to try and see if we could locate the packet. Next thing I know, the guy has opened the window and climbed out onto the 15cm “balcony” to grab the precious smokes. I hold my breath till he has both feet safely on my lino floor once more.
The trio file out the door, only to do a double take- the guy’s left his wallet and phone on my desk. We restate our bonsoirées and au revoirs, and then they are gone. I wonder how many drinks he’d had or if he’s just not all that afraid of falling a full story onto the cold,hard concrete if it means the cigarettes don’t go to waste. As I shake my head with bewilderment and sit down to eat once more, I thank my lucky stars not to have been witness to an instance of “Smoking Kills”.