I’m sorry to have to say this, but the wedding venue is a smoke-free environment.
I’m not only sorry to say it, it pains me to say something like that. I love the smell of cigarettes as much as the next ex-smoker, and I think it is terrible to force my sad, yellow-fingernailed friends out in the cold to get their fix.
Now the smokers are going to have to walk down the stairs from the dining area to get their coats from the coatcheck and then go outside and stand 10 feet from the entrance (or whatever the law is now) to enjoy what is quite possibly their only friend in this cruel worls. And then, these people have to go back into the venue, return their coats to the coat check and huff it back up the stairs to the dining area.
Is there no justice?
I don’t think I can get around the smoking ban, but there is a handicapped elevator in the reception hall for people that can’t make it up to the dining area on foot. I’ll see if the venue managers can make an exception for heavy smokers to use it, too.
Of course, there’s always the chance that people will light up in the bathroom.
I once knew a woman in her 50s who smoked like that. We were having lunch one day on the sixth floor of Marshall Fields in Chicago. After our meals, we both stood up to use the restroom. As I went about my business in the stall, I heard the distinct flick of a lighter going off and the first satisfying inhale of a cigarette.
“Donna, what are you doing?” I said.
No response. Then I saw the swirls of cigarette smoke above the bathroom stall. I flushed and stood guard at the door for the next five minutes.
I won’t be doing that at the wedding reception, though. But if you offer me a few cigarettes, I might keep quiet.