“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”
At some point in my life I thought this was the post office motto, but google has approximately 8 million (give or take a few) people who can’t wait to tell you that this isn’t the motto at all, but instead a greek description of the Persian Post Office, who apparently ran a very tight ship way back in 500 BC.
As tough as these Persians were, I don’t think they can hold a candle to the new tough guy on the block, the SMOKER.
The SMOKER endures the rhetoric of the Government (while paying crazy-high taxes on each pack to it) for the privilege of continuing to be smacked down by laws saying where they can smoke and blamed for high insurance rates. They also must deal with the laid-upon-them guilt of inflicting others with secondhand smoke.
The SMOKER must go outside to smoke, says the collector of the crazy-high taxes. The SMOKER stands out in the elements, braving snow, rain, heat, gloom of night and other people that the SMOKER has nothing in common with save perhaps their brand of tobacco or their future oncologist.
The SMOKER is no longer welcome in diners, bowling alleys or pool rooms. The SMOKER must stand by the back door, all alone, ashing into a coffee cup or heaven forbid, on the ground.
And to them, this sacrifice for vice is worth it. Cheers.
