I went for my 5,000 mile service on Friday.
It wasn’t strictly necessary, but Doc likes to see me [in an official capacity] every six months or so, and anyway I needed a certificate signed to prove I’m still alive.
“How are you?” says he as we walked from the waiting room.
“That’s for you to tell me!” replies I.
It’s a standing joke between us and a visit wouldn’t be the same without it.
Anyhows he prodded and poked and took blood pressure and shit like that, and was happy to confirm that I was indeed still alive. It’s nice to get official confirmation?
So he was telling me to breathe deeply and was prodding around with his stethoscope when he asked it I still smoked the pipe. It was interesting to note that he couldn’t tell from his tests – no wheezing, racking cough or lumps of tar rattling around in there, as Tobacco Control would wish for?
I replied that I was of course.
“That’s grand” says he. “What do you smoke?”
I told him I was a Condor fan and a distant look came over him. Apparently that’s what his father smoked. I said I would light up for him but that my pipe was in the car. However I had my tobacco pouch in my pocket so I gave him a whiff of the contents. He was in heaven! I told him how people frequently approached me and thanked me for reminding them of their dads and grandads, and he said he wasn’t surprised.
He’s a decent man is Doc. None of that bullshit or nagging. That’s because he knows how the pipe is better for me than going without. Either that or they don’t mention smoking in veterinary college?
He’s the only doctor I ever let smell my pouch.