CCT205- Assignment One Strategy and Tactics Mohammed Macki 996451370
When I first started brainstorming about what I should talk about in this narrative, I found that I was racing through many memories that never seemed to deliver that gratifying clincher. These memories ranged from me threatening my high school teacher that I would make him cry blood for filing a disciplinary report against me, to me stealing stationeries from a bookstore and getting caught. Although they both seem like stories that would fit well into this narrative, they both did not really entail any smart or thoughtful tactical responses. Both stories ended up with me having to apologize and promising never to do such thing again- boring, I know. The other day however, a friend of mine and I were talking about cigarettes and the short lived satisfaction it delivers after one smokes it. Although I, myself, am not a smoker, I have tried smoking a couple of times before. While I was telling my friend the story about my first cigarette, he stopped me mid sentence and said “this would be the perfect story for your 205 paper”. Without ruining any parts of the story, here comes the whole version:
It was around 2002, and I was 12 years old. My whole life, I had witnessed my mom smoke her cigarettes endlessly. I always found the habit to be extremely disgusting and irritating, and tried on numerous occasions to get her to stop smoking- but to no avail. On that particular night, I felt the unremitting urge to pick one of those slim tobacco fingers up, and see what the hell was up with all this hype. It was the perfect night. My mom and nanny had decided to go grocery shopping, and with my dad being out of the country, it meant that I would be home alone for the night. I made my way to my mom’s room after I made sure that she had drove away, opened her pack of cigarettes and took one out. The smoking experience itself was surprisingly apathetic, and it honestly tasted like shit, but I still felt like I wanted it to go on. This is where I had to start thinking smartly, and make sure there was no way of me getting caught. First things first, I dumped the bud in a trash can outside of our house. I then rushed to my room, showered, washed my hair, brushed my teeth and changed my clothes.
My mom arrives a few hours later, and everything seemed okay until she opened her pack and suddenly proclaimed “There’s a cigarette missing”. I pretended like I didn’t hear her, and went on to play on my computer whilst my heart started thumping and throbbing at a million beats per minute. She called for me again, and this time addressed me personally and asked “Where is the missing cigarette?”. For the life of me, I could not have uttered a single word, and just stood there hopelessly trying to devise a plan until it hit- I had the perfect master plan set out. “I threw it away” were the first words I responded with. “You’re lying, you smoked it.. Come here, let me smell your breath and hair”. I confidently walked to where she was seated, gave her a whiff of my Colgate scented breath and let her smell my recently washed hair. She sat there, staring at me relentlessly and hopelessly, trying to decipher this enigma. “Again, where is the missing cigarette?”. “Like I told you ma, I threw it out”. It took her a few seconds to register that, and then she finally said “Okay, explain yourself”
“Well, I really hope you don’t get me the wrong way, ma, but all I actually wanted to do was to get you to stop smoking. I thought that if I could secretly take out a cigarette from your pack on a regular basis and throw it out, then that would be one less cigarette you smoked. I know that it would not have stopped you from smoking, but it would at least reduce the amount of cigarettes you smoked. Everything I tried before did not work, so I thought that maybe I would have a shot at this plan. I did not think you would count the number of cigarettes in your pack. I just want you to stop, ma.”
After that complete and utter bullshit filled speech, my mom felt horrible for accusing me of smoking, and told me to go back to my room. I realize how this story may not be the most rebelling story told, but in all honesty, for a 12 year old to come up with that speech in a span of a nanosecond, and have his mom still believe and tell the story 10 years later, I would say that’s pretty fucking awesome.
Oh, and post scriptum/credits, my mom never stopped smoking, and I thankfully never picked up on the habit.
Strategy and Tactics
Mohammed Macki
996451370
When I first started brainstorming about what I should talk about in this narrative, I found that I was racing through many memories that never seemed to deliver that gratifying clincher. These memories ranged from me threatening my high school teacher that I would make him cry blood for filing a disciplinary report against me, to me stealing stationeries from a bookstore and getting caught. Although they both seem like stories that would fit well into this narrative, they both did not really entail any smart or thoughtful tactical responses. Both stories ended up with me having to apologize and promising never to do such thing again- boring, I know. The other day however, a friend of mine and I were talking about cigarettes and the short lived satisfaction it delivers after one smokes it. Although I, myself, am not a smoker, I have tried smoking a couple of times before. While I was telling my friend the story about my first cigarette, he stopped me mid sentence and said “this would be the perfect story for your 205 paper”. Without ruining any parts of the story, here comes the whole version:
It was around 2002, and I was 12 years old. My whole life, I had witnessed my mom smoke her cigarettes endlessly. I always found the habit to be extremely disgusting and irritating, and tried on numerous occasions to get her to stop smoking- but to no avail. On that particular night, I felt the unremitting urge to pick one of those slim tobacco fingers up, and see what the hell was up with all this hype. It was the perfect night. My mom and nanny had decided to go grocery shopping, and with my dad being out of the country, it meant that I would be home alone for the night. I made my way to my mom’s room after I made sure that she had drove away, opened her pack of cigarettes and took one out. The smoking experience itself was surprisingly apathetic, and it honestly tasted like shit, but I still felt like I wanted it to go on. This is where I had to start thinking smartly, and make sure there was no way of me getting caught. First things first, I dumped the bud in a trash can outside of our house. I then rushed to my room, showered, washed my hair, brushed my teeth and changed my clothes.
My mom arrives a few hours later, and everything seemed okay until she opened her pack and suddenly proclaimed “There’s a cigarette missing”. I pretended like I didn’t hear her, and went on to play on my computer whilst my heart started thumping and throbbing at a million beats per minute. She called for me again, and this time addressed me personally and asked “Where is the missing cigarette?”. For the life of me, I could not have uttered a single word, and just stood there hopelessly trying to devise a plan until it hit- I had the perfect master plan set out. “I threw it away” were the first words I responded with. “You’re lying, you smoked it.. Come here, let me smell your breath and hair”. I confidently walked to where she was seated, gave her a whiff of my Colgate scented breath and let her smell my recently washed hair. She sat there, staring at me relentlessly and hopelessly, trying to decipher this enigma. “Again, where is the missing cigarette?”. “Like I told you ma, I threw it out”. It took her a few seconds to register that, and then she finally said “Okay, explain yourself”
“Well, I really hope you don’t get me the wrong way, ma, but all I actually wanted to do was to get you to stop smoking. I thought that if I could secretly take out a cigarette from your pack on a regular basis and throw it out, then that would be one less cigarette you smoked. I know that it would not have stopped you from smoking, but it would at least reduce the amount of cigarettes you smoked. Everything I tried before did not work, so I thought that maybe I would have a shot at this plan. I did not think you would count the number of cigarettes in your pack. I just want you to stop, ma.”
After that complete and utter bullshit filled speech, my mom felt horrible for accusing me of smoking, and told me to go back to my room. I realize how this story may not be the most rebelling story told, but in all honesty, for a 12 year old to come up with that speech in a span of a nanosecond, and have his mom still believe and tell the story 10 years later, I would say that’s pretty fucking awesome.
Oh, and post scriptum/credits, my mom never stopped smoking, and I thankfully never picked up on the habit.