Experience with Electronic Cigarette

Somewhere in my geekiest science fiction dreams, there is a future world where the cigarette is a harmless device, designed by sentient supercomputers to deliver vitamins, plump up your eyelashes and fight the seven signs of ageing. So it’s not surprising that I reacted to the invention of an “ <a rel=”nofollow” onclick=”javascript:_gaq.push(['_trackPageview', '/outgoing/article_exit_link']);” href=”http://www.premiumecigarette.com”>Electronic Cigarette</a> ” with utter glee.

The e-cig gives the smoker a hit of nicotine and the sensation of smoking without the tar and the witch’s brew of carcinogens that makes up regular fag smoke. The filter contains an atomizer and a cartridge of nicotine, suspended in liquid. When you take a drag, the atomizer converts this into a vapor that looks like smoke, but isn’t.

When my e-fag works, it is effective. There is even a delightful orange LED that lights up when I take a drag. But half the time it doesn’t work properly. The cartridges, which are supposed to be equivalent to 12 fags, run out at alarming speed. Am I sucking too hard? Am I taking in far more nicotine (technically a poison, and a vasoconstrictor to boot) than I did as a regular smoker? It is impossible to say.

Most e-cigarette vendors are careful not to market them as a quitting aid, an attitude echoed by the World Health Organization, which has aired concerns about them not having been subject to regulation and peer-reviewed clinical trials. They are promoted as “ <a rel=”nofollow” onclick=”javascript:_gaq.push(['_trackPageview', '/outgoing/article_exit_link']);” href=”http://www.premiumecigarette.com”>Smoking Alternative</a> ” for smokers, which are unlikely to be more dangerous than cigarettes.

The rechargeable battery becomes so temperamental that I have to charge it two or three times a day. I don’t feel like I’ve quit; I just work harder for my fix. And it has a sickly sweet taste.

I get tired of explaining to people that I’m not breaking the law. I feel silly sucking on a metal and plastic tube, like a middle-aged baby. I cadge a real fag from a friend at my weekly poker game, and the slide back to phlegm normality begins. But something has changed. The cigarette on my lips feels stupid, bizarre. Perhaps that is the e-cig’s hidden strength: it makes you realize what a ludicrous business smoking actually is.