Snuff the ban, we’re going down puffing

It’s Wednesday afternoon.

Outside it’s colder than a mortician’s mistress. But I’m lounging at a back table in the neon gloom of a downtown saloon, sucking on an unfiltered Pall Mall cigarette and trying hard to look cool.

And not blow breakfast.

I’m conducting a Last Gasp Smoking Tour to commiserate with the sad nicotine addicts who will soon be more unwelcome than a Klansman at an NAACP convention.

Washington’s tough Clean Indoor Air Act goes into effect today, snuffing out smoking in public places and job sites throughout the state.

The smoke-filled bar is going the way of Bob Dole and the Lawn Dart.

The law says smokers must take their smelly habit outside and stay at least 25 feet away from doorways, windows and ventilation intakes.

Nobody cares about poor smokers anymore. Nobody but – hack-hack – ol’ Doug, that is.

So far I’ve puffed a fine stogie at The Davenport Hotel’s cigar lounge. Then I sucked down a Pall Mall at the Lamp Post Tavern and three more coffin nails here at The Satellite Diner.

“You’re going to need an EKG by morning,” observes Kim Bebo, who is concerned about my corpselike pallor.

As bar manager and activities director, Bebo declared Wednesday the “Great American Smoke-in” at The Satellite. “This is a historic event,” she adds. “This will be the last opportunity for many people to experience secondhand smoke.”

Festive.

Bebo sticks a Marlboro Light between her lips. She leans forward as I flick my Bic and touch yellow flame to the end of her cigarette. “That’s an act of chivalry lost,” she says of my gentlemanly behavior.

Bebo tilts her head back to strike her “Princess smoking pose.”

My own smoking style needs work. I keep having to pick little grains of tobacco out of my teeth. That, I have discovered, is one of the lesser hazards of smoking unfiltered cigs.

I bought the Pall Malls earlier in the day at Jimmy’Z, a tobacco and magazine shop. I asked the 24-year-old kid behind the counter to give me something strong enough to put down a rhino.

If you’re going to stand up to emphysema for a day you might as well give it your best.

He said go with the Pall Malls. Even most smokers care too much about their health to buy these cancer sticks.

I can see why. After four of them the inside of my mouth tastes like unboiled Colbert well water.

But I love the encouraging motto on the red Pall Mall pack: “Wherever particular people congregate.”

They must be talking about a 5-foot square on the corner outside the Satellite. Bebo says that spot is exactly 25 feet away from the bar’s doorway, which makes it legal for smoking.

“It’s not gonna be much fun at 12:01 a.m.,” says Colleen Freeman, who owns the Satellite. “We’ll all be outside shivering.”

My new smoking buddies all call the Clean Indoor Air Act excessive. I have to agree with them.

It’s a big bowl of wrong.

Take the Davenport Hotel’s cigar room. Thanks to the ventilation system, smokers could puff away in this Peacock Lounge alcove without offending any sensitive nostrils.

Because of the new law, $20,000 a year in Davenport cigar sales will go up in smoke.

The hotel can take the hit, of course. For the small-time bar owner it’s a different tale. These places depend on people with unhealthy habits.

Sure, it’s easy to be smug about forcing citizens to go smoke free. But these clean air nannies haven’t examined the devastating long-term effects that this law will have on the taxpayer.

The Social Security system is already about to go bust. We can’t afford to have all these smokers quit. They’ll start living longer and bankrupt the whole stinking country.

Whoa, I feel dizzy.

I slide off my stool and bid the Satellite adieu. I think the next stop on the Last Gasp tour will be Deaconess Medical Center for a lung transplant.