2006-05-19 - 5:39 p.m.

A month or so ago, my coworker Dean asked me to help him work on a proposal for a new city ordinance that would make it illegal to smoke in bars and restaurants in town. Entire states and many of our "sister" cities had already passed similar laws and by golly Dean was ready to take up the mantle and rid our fair city of the evils of smoking.

My role was to play the concerened and stepped-upon bartender who'd been subjected to cancerous smoke for years as I strived to make a living all the while suffering the harmful side effects of secondhand smoke.

Thanks to my inability to say "no" to anything (be it drink, favor, drug, stunt, challenge, etc...) I found myself playing the role of "Expert" sharing a seat on an exculsive panel that included former surgeon genral Dr. Joycelyn Elders as well as a smattering of community leaders such as the head of the American Cancer Society president and a respected Oncologist.

In the days leading up to the town hall meeting, I practiced a short introduction and had my coworkers pepper me with potential questions that the audience might lob my way at the meeting. I handled them with grace and charm and satisified with myself, waited for the day to come.

Informed that panel members were going to be treated to a free dinner at Jack's Gourmet after the meeting (Jack's being a swanky lil steakhouse that's stood since 1920 something, and has this bad muthafucker piano player who's 87 (87!) and wears this gigantic diamond pinky ring while he plays)... I was sold. Sit on a panel, answers some questions, mug for the cameras, get a free dinner at a $40 a head restaurant? Shit. Sign me up.

Informed I could bring a spouse or date along and their meal would be taken care of, I of course asked Pat to go. Unsure of anyone who'd go with me, and not wanting to spark interest that was not warranted, I went with the best friend option to keep things light and drama-free.

So we show up to the town hall meeting which is being held in an old rennovated estate on campus that is full of expensive oil paintings, leather backed furniture, poor college kids dressed in horrible bowties and black pants who roam like zombies and clear away plates and water glasses...

I'm rockin my typical hollister jeans, gap button-up and favorite gap blazer (I call it the "hip philospohy prof who sleeps with his TA's and sometimes students" look.) The crowd is predominantly old and white... smelling of money... lots of money. Doctors mingle with community leaders and buisness owners. That attire is fairly formal, allowing Pat and I to stick out and attract many a wandering eye.

I slap on my name tag, informed that I don't get the normal blue one, but a special red one reserved for the 6 panelists. This immediately raises my stock and the eyes that scoffed now look upon me with vested interest and a mutual respect.

Pat still gets no love thanks to his blue nametag. That doesn't bother either of us a bit as we eyeball the typical cheese, veggie and cracker spreads. Tasty, tasty smoked chedder for us both. We hover near the food, waiting for the big show to get underway. I introduce Pat (and Steve who shows up after a while) to some of the folks I know. I guffaw and chuckle with the big bucks and do my best to explain my position on the panel.

The show gets underway and I take a seat on stage. I drag the average income of the stage down but provide an injection of youth into the panel. Dr. Elders gives a typical keynote address, raging against the tobacco machine and imploring everyone to help stop children from smoking. Won't somebody think about the children?!?

I realize it has little to do with the ordinance and that she is there primarily to villify smoking and those who endorse smoking, thus clearing the path for the rest of us to explain our points of view.

I zone out, scanning the crowd and making faces at Pat and trying to flash gang signs to the television cameras. ABC and I think NBC have sent crews and the camera folks have their stuff trained on Dr. Elders while they jot down notes.

I'm jerked back to Dr. Elders as she makes some comment about "standing tall and being strong like a bone" except that she trails off after "bone" and it comes off sounding exactly like "boner." I smother a chuckle into my sleave, and glance out to see if anyone else caught it. If they did, they're flashing nothing but poker faces and I end up looking like the immature moron.

No one notices my snicker (I think) and soon the panelists get up to give their introductions. I'm last, and I haven't listened to a single word the other's said. I vaguely remember stats being bandied about and someone pounding the podium with their fist. I do remember a general disinterest from the crowd, so I approach the podium, make some joke about my "expertise" and deliver a decent introduction, leaving out my great sex stories, drinking epics and assorted tales of debauchery.

The crowd applauds me and I sit back down and await the questions. One by one, the moderator reads off questions the crowd had written down and for the most part they're medically related. I have no insight so I sit silently wandering if my water is from the tap or some kind of expensive bottled variety. I also contemplate how it has a lipstick print on it seeing as how I didn't wear any that day (I don't wear liptick on weekdays.) I contemplate belittling one of the monkeysuit college workers but decide against it. They already look so pathetic, why add to their misery?

Anywho, I finally get a question or two (posed by Pat and Steve no less) and I handle them with charm and confidence. The crowd laughs at my jokes, not the canned "haha shut up douchebag" laugh but the general "thanks for being mildly interesting and not nearly as pretentious as the other panel members" laugh. The crowd gives me a lil extra applause and afterwards I mingle with audience members who want to ask me more questions. I exchange info with a reporter or two and Pat I take off for Jack's.

We get there, order some complimentary Sapphire and tonic's and sit back for what proves to be a looooooong dinner. Our table is made up of a few panel members, a concerened citizen, the restaurant owner, and a student.

The panel's reisdent Dr. tries to endear himself to the "kids" at the table by telling stories of past bartending exploits, weekend cycling races and numerous other "hip" remarks. Pat rolls his eyes a record setting 568 times, but no one notices thanks to the concerned citizen who manages to squeeze a comment, short story, haiku, etc... in between every word.

Dinner (thankfully) is absolutely amazing. Pat scarfs down a portabello dish and I enjoy some kind of salmon. We keep the drinks coming, escaping the table from time to time to sit at the bar. Soon the crowd dwindles and I find myself chatting with the restaurant owner about the history of the place. He talks for what feels like weeks and I contemplate ordering another drink on the tab that's already been settled. He takes a breath and I use it to escape.

Homeward bound I reflect on the day and wonder how I got to where I am. A real, genuine fuck up who somehow created a plan, enacted it, and is now...

Successful?

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