I joined my friend, who also has the good fortune to be named Steve, and a group of his friends at a pub in Philadelphia one rainy Saturday evening. The six of us were seated in a dimly lit booth near the crowded bar area.
As we all sat and talked, I noticed that one of the guys, Rick, would occasionally stare at a spot above my head. His eyes would dart between the person in our group who was speaking, and then back to my head, or more accurately, eighteen inches above it. This occurred several times before I became sure it wasn’t my imagination. I asked Rick if there was something wrong with my head.
“No man…no I just saw something. Listen to me though – don’t move. Just sit there a second.” Then he said to our mutual friend Steve, “Check this out… every time… watch…” – the words were unclear to me as Rick described, in whispers, the situation going on above my head. Then Steve saw what Rick had been explaining, and his eyes widened.
Calmly he said to me, “Don’t move, Steve – just stay there, don’t turn around.” I did as I was told. At this point, everyone in the booth was monitoring the scene.
Steve waited a few seconds more. His eyes were following something behind me, moving slowly. Then he stood. I could not hold in my curiosity, so I turned.
With a lilting tone, so as not to alarm the guy, Steve asked him, “Hey man… ha ha… did I just see you… flicking your cigarette in my friend’s hair?” Steve attempted to keep the tone light, but it was awkward at best.
My friend Steve was confronting a swarthy man who did not seem to speak in our tongue. The guy was holding a cigarette, and smiled generously.
With a lilting tone, so as not to alarm the guy, Steve asked him, “Hey man… ha ha… did I just see you… flicking your cigarette in my friend’s hair?” Steve attempted to keep the tone light, but it was awkward at best. I reached up, felt my head, and indeed the man had been amusing himself by creating an ash pile atop my cranium.
Steve pursued it further, but the man did not acquiesce. He laughed a little, spoke some words in another language, continued to take drags from his cigarette, all the while not appearing threatened or remorseful.
Feeling that the man would not continue this activity now that he had been spotted and confronted, Steve sat down and held his gaze on the flicker. While I continued to wipe my hair clean of ashes with whatever napkins were handy, my antagonist exited the establishment. The guys advised that he was most likely not completely stable, and it was best to not pursue him. I agreed. We went back to our conversation.
Twenty minutes later, we heard the sirens. Looking out of the pub, we saw a bloody heap on the sidewalk in front of a bar a few hundred feet down the block. It was the same man who had made me his personal ashtray. Apparently he’d moved on to the next alcohol-serving venue down the block and got himself into an altercation. He wasn’t dead but he also wasn’t conscious. Someone head beaten the poop out of him.
I felt somewhat vindicated. I believe he learned his lesson: cigarette flicking can be hazardous to your health.
