My Vice

I’ve never done any illegal drugs. Hell, I’ve never even smoked a
cigarette. I used to think it had to do with my ethics and morals
until I discovered I’m a control freak. And doing drugs requires a
willingness to give up control. The only way that could happen for me
was if I took a legal drug to loosen me up enough to do an illegal
drug which would then eliminate the need to do the illegal drug.

In the 1980s, one of my favorite TV shows was Miami Vice. In some
ways, it still is. There’s something alluring about wearing Armani
while tooling around in a black Ferrari Daytona Spyder (or a replica
built on a Corvette chassis as was done in the first two seasons of
the show) on the mean streets of Miami armed for bear about to meet
with drug peddling thugs. That’s the kind of life experience nearly
every (suburban) teenage boy wants besides cars and women.

And nearly every guy wanted to be Sonny Crockett. I knew two guys in
my high school who were seniors when I was a freshman and both of them
dressed like Crockett. Now that might have been hip if we lived in
Miami but we lived in upstate New York. Walking around in white linen
with no socks and espadrilles is only hip if you’re looking to develop
frost bite. And linen just doesn’t seem to hold any heat in below
zero winters. It wrinkles but it does look cool for about five
minutes in the snow until you blend in and are nearly killed by a
snowplow clearing away banks at the mall. It’s difficult to look
unruffled when you’re nursing a flesh wound although Don Johnson
might be able to pull it off for the right money in the right show.

Now I didn’t have the courage to really try smoking cigarettes (I
still don’t). I don’t even like the acrid smell of burning rope, old
gym socks, and car exhaust that seems to come from a lit smoke. So in
my best cowardly way to look and act like Crockett, I rolled a torn
piece of standard copy paper and lit it using my parent’s wood burning
stove in the basement. And there I was in my white cotton suit from a
low end designer sold at Sears and my blue turquoise shirt and my fake
tortoise shell Ray Ban Wayfarer-like shades smoking a lit piece of
paper in the cellar. It lasted about five seconds before coughing
ensued and that lasted much longer like a hangover after drinking.

I no longer wear white cotton suits, pastel t-shirts, or try to smoke
fake cigarettes but I would still like to be as cool as Sonny
Crockett. I’m 37 years old so that window is closing fast. Still for a brief
moment on a cold winter night in upstate New York, I could feel the
pounding pulse of synthesized music, hear the crashing Atlantic surf and
the roar of a Ferrari, and the excitement of thinking I was about to
become Sonny Crockett. My vice was to think I needed to be someone
else to be attractive. I’ve learned I don’t but I’d still like to
drive a Ferrari someday (but not to a drug deal because I’m fragile)!

Aaron David Ward is a professional stand up comedian and former fake
cigarette smoker from Ballston Spa, NY. Visit his website at
www.aarondavidward.com and write to him at adw@aarondavidward.com.