But Can You Organize Your Cigarettes?

I am proud to say I've never smoked a cigarette, puffed on a cigar yes, but never inhaled it. I wouldn't be able to handle it. Here's a prime example of why I would make a bad smoker.

Saturday night there was an event "organized" for Carnaval. I say "organized" because my definition of organized, and the Spanish definition, are totally different. The elementary school PTA was holding a parade and dinner to participate in the larger community event for our Benimaclet neighborhood, a section of town that is quite large.

Allow me to go off on this organization tangent for a moment before we resume with the smoking portion of our story. The PTA, called AMPA here, sent home a vague but typical note to all parents saying that for Carnaval, on (last) Saturday, we would all meet at the school at 4:30 and anyone who signs up by whenever would receive a bag of confetti. One must sign up for a bag of confetti??? So Ann, signed all the kids up. As she was doing that she took the opportunity to also sign up for the Saturday night dinner. Her story goes something like this:

[I was standing in line at the school door and was the first one allowed into the AMPA office. There were about 30 people in a room big enough for 10 and everyone was talking over each other. One woman attended to me and signed up the kids for the confetti.
-What time does it start?
She yelled across the room and got an answer back.
-4 or 4:30
-4 OR 4:30, OK.
Then we got to the dinner sign-up and when I asked about that she said, oh sure, just a minute, and grabbed a random piece of blank paper. With pen poised, she waited for me to talk.
-There are eleven of us.
Finally the woman asked for specific info and took names. I waited for more questions or info. Nothing.
-Uh, do we pay now?
The woman yells across the room to another woman and asks her.
-No, pay before the dinner.
-OK, before as in tomorrow, before as in Saturday, before as in when we get there?
-Before.
-Oookay. Is that all?
-Yes. No! Wait! What do you want to eat?
-Uh, well, what is there?
The woman yells across the room again and a response is yelled back:
-Jsuo djsweir ccopwrb ire euirow feisjo hfieroyycqb fhuipsdl o tortilla de patata.
-Um, tortilla de patata
The woman wrote that down next to one name, poised her pen next to name number 2 and looked up at me.
-Uh, no, everyone the same.
-Everyone the same?!?!?!?
-Yes.
-OK.
I left with little one-inch square pieces of paper cut from a photocopy, that were to serve as "tickets" to the event.]

I had experienced similar organization in the AMPA office on a previous visit to sign the girls up for dance class. Unprepared sign-up sheets made on the fly. This is a pervasive theme. Spaniards are spontaneous and it makes me self-conscious of my anal-retentive, must-have-substantial-notice-given, way of doing things...the American way. Notes home from school are often sent the day before you need to gather or make something to bring the next day. Just yesterday Eva brings home a note that she needs to bring a wet cotton ball and 4 beans in a yogurt cup. Apparently they are sprouting beans. Don't they realize that we don't have yogurt cups because we buy LARGE containers of yogurt because there are ELEVEN of us? And do you think we have fresh beans on hand? Not normally. It just so happens that Elena had a plant sprouting kit and had some extra beans left over. We found a plastic cup. Done. But this regular event of scrambling around to gather up these things needed for the next day just isn't my style.

Anyway...back to the parade...

When we got to the school for the parade on Saturday, we still didn't know where the dinner afterwards was being held, or at what time later that evening. These are details that are either unimportant to mention on the note home, or it is understood that everyone just knows. There's a lot of that here too, people simply know things. And when you ask, sometimes they look at you like oh, well, of course it is just right over there on that street just past the cafe on the other side of the roundabout by the church. Yeah, do you know how many cafes, churches and roundabouts there are???

We approached the confetti distributor with our little tickets. I'm picturing a little plastic bag full of confetti, oh, cute. But no! They instead got a medium-sized paper shopping bag with handles with about six inches of confetti, candy, toys and treats inside! So that's why we had to sign up! I get it now!

All the kids, except ours, were dressed in costumes, like Halloween. We paraded through the streets of Benimaclet throwing confetti, the kids scurrying around picking up candy off the street (ew) and following the band that was leading.

After parading we found kiddie games being put-on (I dare not say 'organized') by some young adults. While the kids played, Matthew and I scouted out where the dinner was and finally found the place. Eva was starting to get tired. Ann stayed with most of the kids and the rest of the adults and Eva, in a weird combination of household members, retreated back home for a rest before the unknown dinner start time. Ann texted us around 9, saying dinner was starting, so we hustled on down.

Here's where the smoking part of the story comes back...
The PTA dinner was in a small cultural center. There were probably 60 adults and 30 kids. I think half or more of the adults were smoking. Ick. Three hours in that place and now Eugene and I both have bronchitis, still, almost a week later. We're like dueling banjos, Eugene coughs, then I answer with a hack. I cough and he answers. It's a beautiful thing.

Spaniards smoke A LOT. Almost every restaurant we know/see/pass by is a smoking establishment. By law they have to post a sign saying so, but if you avoid the restaurants that have smoking, you'll never eat. May I order a tumor to go with my paella?

What gets me more is the parents that smoke right next to their kids. Not only the second-hand smoke the kids get, but also the possibility of getting burned. Mothers will stand in the mob-scene outside the school gate at pick-up time and smoke in the crowd where babies, small and large children are running about, pushing through the crowd. Does anyone ever get burned? Maybe it's just me. Maybe I would be the one burning people. Maybe that's TWO reasons I would be a bad smoker.