There are an estimated 800 to 1000 smokers in the Penn undergraduate body. They are some of Penn's best and brightest. On average they have a GPA .6 higher than non-smokers. Their sex lives are, reportedly, 3-4 times more fulfilling than non-smokers. They are Penn's anchor, keeping it down to earth. Thank god for these smokers. Smoking is bad for you, but not as bad as having a lame personality stemming from a prude refusal to trying things that your parents and TV commercials warn you against. Meet the different types of smokers here on campus. Remember, smoking itself doesn't make you cool. But cool people tend to smoke.
The girl who
only smokes when drunk:
Where do you all come from? To you it's not acceptable for a girl to be a daytime smoker. Feigning disdain for the others who do, you refuse to take on that image. But deep inside you know you love it. When you're drunk, you have excuses; you'll burn through packs like a 7-Eleven going down in flames. When drunk, you are illicit and badass, smoking cigs like you're that cool, free-spirited girl. When sober, you're pretty boring. You are typically seen with circular burn marks on your hands and lips.
The moocher:
You are the lowest of the low, your own coughed up lung scum. You claim not to smoke regularly; you won't buy cigarettes. When others start smoking, you say, "I'll hit you back." But your friends know what's up. Over time they see the frailty of your soul and begin to deny you of your sustenance, while you find yourself alone and desperate. To get one, you hang out under the Button sucking the dicks of smokers who are on study break. You look forward to that goofy kid from Glee Club; he gives you a whole pack.
The nurse who
smokes outside of HUP:
You give great health advice.
The Penn burnout:
You were the glory child of your high school, perhaps the only one from your mediocre public school to get into Penn. You soon realize that here you are squat. Reality is cold. You're ambition fails to make up for your lack of true smarts. Self-defined by being above the rest, you lose that sense of self. Neurotic, you turn to cigarettes. Sure, you know it's going to kill you, and the sooner the better: your days are over.
The oral fixator:
You just love to put stuff in your mouth. You choose menthols because it complements the salty taste of the mistakes you've made there before. More of a Drexel phenomenon.
The cigarette-after-sex
smoker:
You get back from a frat party. The thought of cigarettes enters your mind and your heart beats faster. You take the pack and undress it, stripping it of its plastic wrapping. You take one out, slowly smell it and play with it between your fingers. Enough of that. You put it into your mouth and suck nervously. The warmth flows down into you and then the buzz... it comes all over you. Sweet release.
The cigarette-after-masturbation smoker:
You are that guy from Glee Club.
The girl who smokes
to lose weight:
Cigarettes, they're what's for dinner. For who? For that vainly image-driven segment of the population that only keeps gay guy friends around so they can have a guy's perspective on whether they are fat or not. For the times you can't do a line... reach for your trusted lights. When you've got Starbucks and cigarettes, food's simply not the solution for your appetite. Food is part of a much greater problem.
The hipster:
Well, hello there. Look at you. You're making such a point there, smoking that cigarette. Boy, you look interesting; great first impression, I'd say. I'd love to chat, but I guess your complicated and rich inner life makes me (sans Urban Outfitters and American Apparel gear) ill-equipped to talk to you. I guess you have that iPod on anyway. What's that there? It looks like there's something written all over your face: you only smoke because the majority of people don't.
The secret smoker:
Well-stocked in Orbitz and Febreze, you live a life of nonexistent intrigue, climaxing in lying to your parents about that pack they found in your car. You don't stay in rooms for long. "I have to make a phone call, I'll be back," you say. With an antsy tone, you complain about the new lights put up behind The Bridge. You murdered that nerd from the Glee Cub when he walked in on you; you disposed of him in the 7-Eleven fire.
