Café Boris - The smoking ban

 

“Excuse me,” a tourist said to Boris one day, “am I allowed to smoke in here?”

 

“There is no smoking in this cafe,” Boris said. “I am sorry, I have sensitive lungs. You must go outside or use the smoking room.” He pointed to the kitchen.

 

“The smoking room? That’s the kitchen.”

 

“It’s the only place in the café where you may smoke.”

 

“But it’s the kitchen. I’m not smoking in the kitchen, it’s unhygienic.”

“I know it’s unhygienic, but still you eateat the food even though I warned you not to. It was the first thing I said to you when you entered, don’t eat the food here.”

 

“I’d rather not smoke at all, thank you all the same,” the tourist said. “I wouldn’t be comfortable smoking in a kitchen.”

 

“Get used to it,” said Sergei, who was sitting at a neighbouring table, “if the government get there way you’ll not be allowed to smoke anywhere in Luhansk. Not even the Café Boris kitchen.”

 

“What is this?” Boris said, “A ban on smoking? I have heard nothing of this.”

 

“It’s the local Mayor, he’s a fanatic anti-smoker. He wants to introduce a ban on smoking in all indoor workplaces, like they have in Moscow.”

 

“A ban on smoking, here, in Luhansk. It can never happen.” Boris banged a spoon against a table in a rare sign of anger, the whole café jumped in fright. Sergei just shrugged.

 

“They say his party is behind him, he easily has enough votes to win.”

 

“But this is terrible,” said Boris. “They cannot do this to Luhansk.”

“Why is it so terrible?” Sergei asked. “You have a ban on smoking in this café, why should you care if they ban smoking in the other cafes?”

 

“Because if smoking is banned everywhere then smokers will come here with their e-cigarettes and their complaints about big government, fouling the air with their talk of freedom to choose.”

 

“You’re not the only café complaining,” Sergei said, “but I think you’re the only non-smoking café to raise any concern.”

 

“I cannot have this. I shall call a meeting. Sergei, you know people, go to the other cafés, speak to smokers, people you know. Tell them I am holding a meeting here tonight against the ban.”

 

“I would do Boris,” Sergei said, “but I have to work today. The landlord, you know, he’s making the usual complaints. I try and blame failures in the international monetary system for his lack of rent, but he’s not interested. He’s say’s it’s all very well understanding causes, but he can’t throw monetary theory of out the flat for not paying rent.”

 

“Okay, okay,” said Boris, “a hundred hyvennas for you to tell people about the meeting. But I shall be listening, I have ears everywhere, I’ll know if you didn’t do what I paid you to do.”

 

“Boris, you’re paying me to go round stirring up trouble. You honestly think I’ll let you down by secretly doing a hard day’s labour instead?”

 

Boris hadn’t expected there to be a very great response. For one think Luhank’s inhabitants are renowned for being a lethargic populace. For another, he had made no real effort to advertise the meeting besides hiring Sergei as messenger and mentioning it to his customers.

 

But Boris had underestimated his own status in the city.  The fame associated with the daily death notices in the local Ekspres, and his uniquely worded abuse of tourists that brought tourists to the city in droves and made Café Boris the number one tourist destination in the town.

 

The tables had to be moved to one side and extra chairs added in rows to accommodate people. Even that wasn’t enough, with rows of people standing at the back. Revolutions have begun with less people.

 

“Please, please,” Boris said to one of the those in the front row, “don’t smoke cigarettes in here, this is a no smoking café.”

 

“But I thought this was a pro-smoking meeting.”

 

“No, it is about individual café owners having the choice. There are dozens of cafés in Luhansk that allow smoking, go to one of them if you want to smoke.”

 

“But yours is the only café campaigning against the smoking ban.”

 

“In which case put that cigarette out, or smoke outside.”

 

“It is raining outside.”

 

“In which case use the smoking room.” He gestured toward the kitchen.

 

Reluctantly the man transferred to the kitchen. He was joined by three or four other men, who lit up. The smoke could be seen drifting into the main café, but Boris didn’t seem to be bothered by drifting smoke, only that right under his nose.

 

“Brothers,” he said, standing up to his full height and gaining attention by banging a spoon hard onto a tabletop. “This is a momentous day for Luhansk. Here in Ukraine with have fought off Nazi invasion, Soviet control, Mongul hoards and Tartar rule, yet today we are threatened by our own government.”

 

“But what are we to do?” a voice rang out from the crowd, but before Boris could answer there was a commotion from the kitchen.

 

“Out, out, out,” Olyana shouted, shooing the four smokers from her kitchen. “I am declaring my kitchen a smokefree zone.”

 

“But you can’t …” one of the men protested, “this is the smoking room. We have nowhere else to smoke.”

“It is my right,” Olyana said, “it is my kitchen, I shall ban smoking if I wish. I didn’t mind the occasional person, it meant for company and gossip, but now Boris is making the café a smokers’ collective.”

 

“Boris,” the man pleaded, “tell her she can’t ban smoking in the smoking room.”

 

“There’s nothing I can do,” Boris said, shrugging as a million men have shrugged before when faced with a force of nature like Olyana, “if Olyana wants to make her kitchen smokefree it’s her choice. I wouldn’t dare go against her wishes in her kitchen.”

 

“So we come to a non-smoking café to campaign against the smoking ban.”

 

“You chose to come to a non-smoking café to campaign against the smoking ban, just as Olyana and I chose to ban smoking. That is why we are here, to oppose a government that opposes choice.”

 

The men returned to their seats. As the meeting progressed the audience became noticeably twitchy, some getting up to brave the rain outside, but none daring to cross Olyana or Boris by smoking inside. If every café had a Boris there would be no need for official bans.

 

After Boris there were a number of other speakers, all smokers who demanded the right to smoke and the right to choose, though none daring to look Boris in the eye.

 

After the speeches Boris again took the stage. “People, all of this passion will be wasted if it is not targeted where it will hurt the mayor and his cronies. We must make the City council fear the votes of smokers.”

 

There was a somewhat confused cheer at Boris’ call to action.

 

“To win this battle we must make the councillors fear for their seats.”

 

One of the men who had been turned out of the kitchen spoke. “But the vote on the smoking ban is next week, there isn’t an election for another two years and the vote on the smoking ban is next week. How can we make them fear for their seats. These things are forgotten, in two years’ time there will be new promises, new lies.

“By making sure they know that we will remember how they voted. We have to make sure they know that there are enough people against. Write letters, send emails, get your friends and family to write letters and emails. We must all work. Every man and woman here must find out the name of their city councillor, write to them, hang around outside his house, threaten to stand against him at the next election.”

 

“But I don’t know who my councillor is,” one man said.

 

“Then find out. Dmitri,” Boris called over to Dmitri, who was minding his own business, sitting at his usual table trying to ignore the noisy meeting and writing in his journal. “Dmitri, you know about these things, you take the addresses of people here and find out who their councillor is.”

 

“I am writing, Boris,” Dmitri protested.

 

“You can write any time Dmitri, you do not work, you live entirely off my generosity.”

 

“I bring you all your customers.”

 

“I know, and still I forgive you Dmitri, even though we both know how much I hate my customers. Come, do this favour for me, you are good at these things, research, letters, media, these are you territories. Without you we could not possibly win.”

 

And so Boris recruited Dmitri to his cause, as a result of which every person present was told who their councillor was and even given a sample letter to write to their councillor and similar templates to write to the local paper. The smoking ban soon became the only news being covered in the town and, because of the international attention Boris’ café had brought to the paper, most of the coverage was against the ban, with Dmitri organising a long list of interviewees to explain why they were against the ban.

 

The front page piece on the day of the vote was an interview with Boris himself, the first time he had ever consented to speak to the media. The edition of the paper broke all records for sales, with an unprecedented reprint of the paper the next day, which also sold out.

 

These were by no means the only actions, protests were organised outside the council offices, a rota was drawn up and even those working long shifts were persuaded to offer up time in their lunch breaks.  On the day of the vote there were over 350 people outside the council building, with Boris conducting an orchestra of protest singers using a spoon as a baton.

 

Councillors bowed their heads as they entered the building, as if ashamed of being associated with the anti-smoking legislation. They couldn’t escape notice, however, Dmitri met every single one at the door and greeted them loudly with a “Good day to you Councillor Andrich,” or “Looking forward to hearing your speech against the ban, Councillor Mazur, or “I am sure you will follow the wishes of God, Councillor Bogus.”

 

“What?” the councillor said, surprised, “the wishes of God? There is no mention of smoking bans in the bible.”

 

“Exactly my point, Councillor Bogus,” Dmitri had said, suppressing a smile, “exactly my point.”

 

A petition had also been organised, with over 1,000 signatories, and Boris was allowed to bring the petition to the council chamber. Officially, as a non-delegate, Boris was not allowed to speak, but despite this restriction, having delivered the document he then spoke to the Chamber.

 

“Councillors, you may block your ears to me, as I know that there is a ban on non-delegates speaking in this place. I know how much you love your bans and restrictions. But if your ears show pity on my words and allow you to hear, then hear this. I am a non-smoker, I do not allow smoking in my café, not even in its kitchens. I have a medical condition that means I cannot stand smoke, a condition, I might add, brought about by my service to my country.

 

“But in spite of these personal beliefs I am opposed to the ban, for it goes against everything great about Ukraine. For hundreds of years Ukraine has fought for its freedom, with oppression threatening every side of our border, from every side of the political spectrum. But from one direction we must be safe, from the inside. We must not suppress freedom, even if it is a freedom for filthy, stinking smokers

 

The speech drew a loud cheer from the crowd of filthy, stinking smokers in the public gallery, followed, reluctantly, by a round of applause from the councillors.

 

Despite the scale and passion of the protest, the vote itself was tight, with the ban defeated by just one vote. A celebration was organised at Café Boris, with free vodka offered for every protestor. However, the celebratory mood soon ended, when some of the smokers tried to light cigars up in celebration. Boris not only threw out the three errant smokers, but all of the other smokers, and all those protests who were not regulars of Café Boris.

“I don’t want your sort in my café,” he shouted, “you smell, your fumes pollute and all you ever do is whinge about your right to smoke.”

 

Thus, in dramatic fashion, Café Boris returned to being a smoker-free zone and life in Luhansk continued pretty much as it always had.