Real talk.

"Do you smoke cigarettes?"

"Yeah. . . .I do smoke every now and then. . ."

Before I could hide it, my eyebrows raised and I was giving my patient the hairy eyeball. I didn't mean to do it. . . .it just sort of happened. I hoped he hadn't caught it.

"What was that for?" he asked with a chuckle. He had obviously caught it. "That look on your face. What was that about?"

"Oh. . . I'm sorry."  I laughed nervously, feeling busted.

"Real talk, doc. Why you make that face?"

Real talk.  I love that expression. It embodies everything I love about slang terms. Sometimes slang words have a meaning that can't be covered as quickly or as effectively with non-slang.  Case in point: "real talk." Two simple words that explain so much.

"Real talk?" I confirmed before proceeding further.

"Real talk."

"Alright. Real talk. . . . .the minute I walked into the room, I knew you smoked. At least a half a pack per day, but my real guess is somewhere around a whole pack. My suspicion is that maybe you smoke other things, too. Like marijuana." I immediately wanted to take the second part back. How could I assume somebody smoked marijuana, too?  (Oh yeah, because I could smell it.)

"Damn, doc. Why you say that? I don't smoke that much. . . ."

"Real talk? I don't usually smell cigarettes on people who smoke under a half a pack. I smell it.  And. . " I paused, wondering if I should just stop talking.

"And what?" he pressed.

"And your lips . . . . .your lips have turned darker from smoking, which tells me that you smoke quite a bit. . . .maybe something more than cigarettes, even. Okay, and as for the weed. . .real talk. . .I smell that, too."

"Damn."

"Have you ever thought of quitting? I mean, you're in your forties. . . you could benefit a lot from quitting."

"You can smell it on my skin and see it in my lips?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Cigarettes is bad news, huh?"

"You got that right. They wreak havoc all through your body. They even make you have trouble with your nature. . . .you know. . .like how you perform."

"Damn." He shuddered at the thought of being unable to gain erections. "Come on, doc."

"I'm saying. . . .you said 'real talk,'" I replied with an eyebrow raise.

"I know. . . . I hear you, doc."

"So. . . .what are your thoughts on quitting? I mean. . .have you thought of it?"

"Man. . . .I'm not really there yet. I just love smoking too much to quit."


"You love it?"


"Love it. Love the relaxation of it. The social part. The breaks with my buddies. A good smoke on the commode or after dinner. I just love it. I wish I didn't, but I do. I love smoking."

"Wow."

He sighed. "I know, right?"

"It'll just hurt you, that's all." I looked at him carefully. His youngish face was chiseled like that of a model, and his job in construction afforded him a physique to match. I could tell that he didn't see this as a real problem, at least not yet. He was what we call "precontemplative" or, that is,  not even close to ready to change.

"Aiight then, Miss Manning. I mean. . .I hear what you saying. . . .but let's talk about it again next time, okay?"

"That's cool. I'll get you some information on quitting, and when you're ready let us know."

"Miss Manning?"

"Yes sir?"

"A pack and a half. Some days, two. And one to two joints per day."

"Wow. Real talk?"

"Real talk, Miss Manning."

***


Today I'm reflecting on a question that one of my students, Joshua Z., got me thinking of the other day:

Why do we do things that aren't good for us even when we know the consequence? 

Eating the wrong foods, drinking the wrong drinks, calling the wrong person in the middle of the night. Why do we do it. . .over and over and over again?

I don't know that answer.

But real talk? We're all precontemplative about something.