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Ninos Malek of the Mises Institute has an interesting quick read today: Where There’s Smoke, You Don’t Have to Be. It is a political problem that is dear to my heart — what constitutes “my property” and what constitutes “public property.” I’m not sure when exactly a restaurant became a piece of public land, where property rights and owner’s desires were restricted by what is best for the general population. Maybe it happened during the Civil Rights era, maybe before then. I’ve never been able to track down when exactly the door to your business was controlled by publicans rather than by your own desires.

Malek offers some sagely truth: The only two parties that seem to get mentioned in many of these cases are the smokers and the non-smokers. The former argue that it is their right to smoke and the latter argue that it is their right to have clean air. Who seems to be forgotten are the business owners! This misuse of the word “public” is the main cause.

This is very true. The basic debate for regulation of smoking in restaurants is to look at what is good for the customers and the employees. I don’t run a business only to make my customers happy, I have to focus first and foremost on my bottom line — staying in business. I could cook the best burger in the world, but if it runs me out of business, the burger could be gone forever. That is something all restauranteurs face when they enter that hard market — how to please the customer.

Restaurants for me is a time to socialize. You’ll catch me at the bar stool eating a burger much more often than at a quiet and private table. I’ve formed many casual and serious friendships at one of 5 stools throughout Chicago, and dozens if not hundreds of friendships throughout the world the same way. For me, a good burger, a nice glass of wine and a casual cigarette doesn’t hamper me, and they all aid in the socializing aspect of gaining customers.

Yes, smoking is bad. It can be very detrimental to your health. But for me less than half a year ago, the most detrimental health risk I have ever witnessed occured to me in a restaurant, on so-called public property. The government did not come to my aid, and the restaurant owners who were pro-smoking ban also ignored me. They actually laughed at me.

For years I was skinny and healthy — 140 lbs, 5′7″, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. I could run the mile faster than most, and I was happy and focused. Around the age of 24 I settled down, chose a nice gal, and changed my lifestyle. She told me that my lifestyle of burgers, steaks, butter, bacon and the occasional salad were bad for me. My blood pressure told me otherwise, so did my cholesterol level. I switched to a new way of eating: pasta and vegetables and breads and rice — organic, too! In 2 years I gained 50 pounds slowly, almost without realizing it. At 27 I was 180 pounds, and I found out I was unhealthy. My doctor wanted me on blood pressure medication and cholesterol-controlling drugs. He hated them, but he said I was in serious trouble. I told him I was eating healthier than ever, and he said that it could just be age and a hormonal change.

After 6 months of working out (I never did before) and watching every gram of fat, I was 10 pounds heavier. My doctor was seriously scared for me, and asked me to plot any changes in my life in the past 3 years. I was a bit lazier (income was better so I worked less), but overall I didn’t change much. I did quick the casual cigarette, and I did give up unhealthy meats, cheeses, butters and the rest. He flipped. My doc is old, ancient even. He is a big fan of protein and fats over carbs and starches. He told me to immediately go back to the old way of eating. I was afraid, but he said the veggies and pastas were killing me. Less than 18 months later, my blood pressure was in check, my cholesterol was perfect again, and my weight was down to 145. I didn’t take a single pill, and I was eating more “junk” than ever. My body prefers protein over starch. I could never be an organic vegetarian.

Fast forward to 6 months ago when I went to check out a local restaurant run by some tree-huggers that was commercial anti-smoking. I decided to see what it was like, and it was my worst nightmare. Pro-government advocates everywhere, save-the-child signs in the front foyer, and even some public-school teachers were moonlighting for tips. I asked for a big burger and a glass of wine. They laughed. No meat there! I pulled out a pack of my favorite cigarettes, the Nat Sherman Black and Golds. As I was about to light up, they jumped on me like hawks to a mouse: “there’s no smoking in here!”

I asked why. They said it was unhealthy for all around me. I explained that vegetables and starches were unhealthy to all around me as I looked around and noticed that 80% of the customers were overweight, if not obese. They laughed. I explained that if they had the right to clean air, I had the right to clean arteries. More laughter, Santa Claus like with bellies bouncing. I explained that if I was to smoke and get ill, they would not have to pay for me in the future, I was financially stable and insured. I explained that if they kept eating the organic junk food they ate, I would have to pay for them since most of them were unemployed and uninsured — all that time spent at riots and protests meant time lost focusing on their work skills, I guess.

They didn’t listen. They told me that the restaurant was their property, and they had a right to sell what they wanted to.

That was the last word, and I gave it to them. I winked on my way out, knowing fully that I had won since they had paraphrased the line that freedom lovers have said since the beginning: don’t tread on me. Some old people know it better: Get. Off. My. Land.

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