Entry 8

As the semester draws to a close the unfortunate realization comes to fruition that the line up of the smoke hut next semester will change. No longer will we be graced with the presence of the same faces day after day, week after week. No longer will the same debauch topics climax in the same fashion that they do (well, at least not for the first week or two of the upcoming semester). And, worst of all, the element of the place changes so drastically that it’s almost awkward for the first few weeks of a new semester.
As I’ve said before, the huts on campus are places where people find their release throughout the monotony that tends to plague students during the throws of the semester. If it wasn’t for the people in regular attendance, though, then the huts would be nothing more than places where people went to smoke.
Over this semester I realized that the smoke huts were so much more than just places to smoke. I’ve realized that these are small little communities of people, all with at least one common bond, that come together once or several times a day to facet by facet reveal themselves on a level that complete strangers just don’t do.
I’ve always said that I hated people. This is a true statement. I hate everything about the idea of people, I hate the ways in which people conduct themselves, I hate the outright scummy things that people tend to do. But, what is misunderstood by this statement is that the concept of the individual differs greatly from the concept of people. This semester I was graced with the opportunity to meet individuals, to get know these unique entities on a level that simple passers by could not understand. I obtained a support system that I didn’t think existed outside of the comfort of family. They are even more than a support system… they are now my friends.
Even if some of these faces never make their way into my life again I have realized something very important by their presence over the past few months: everybody meets for a reason. You have all helped me through a tumultuous course in my collegiate career all the while providing me with a reason to want to come to school each and every day.
With that, I leave you all with this:

“A monument to monumental dying thoughts/ Let the currents take us where they will. From this (hut) I can see the world unfold before me. I’m brooding over broken nights/ I break each sentence like a limb. This is my exit.”

- The Lawrence Arms “Fireflies”

Entry 7

Consider this another entry doting on the kindness of complete strangers. Consider this an entry documenting the time that I got a conglomerate of individuals fighting for a cause that may or may not be legitimate. Consider this an entry documenting a time that I felt like a complete fool.
Allow me to preface this by saying that I find issues involving the gay community to be of utmost importance. I feel that a lot of people are sifting through attempt after attempt at putting a label on what we can or cannot look like or who we can or cannot love. The fight for equal rights in this respect is a fight worth fighting for and shame on those who do not feel this way. I feel truly sorry for you.
With that said, a week or two ago I was in a class that two of my fellow hutters, Jennifer and Adam, are also in. There’s an individual that was in our class by the name of Brittany who seemed to be undergoing some hard transitions in her life and through attempts of seeking acceptance she only found herself drowning in the swell of abandonment.
In an attempt to nurture this sense of abandonment, she reached out to members of our class asking for help, a friend, anyone who cared enough to give her the time of day. There were a few who gladly offered their assistance, even if it was only an ear to pay attention, people in the class were more than willing to help.
Then, it seemed, things began getting a little bit repetitive. We would get e-mails from this individual almost every other day updating us on her fragile, unstable state. We’d try to reach out. We’d try to listen, however it seemed that almost any time that anybody tried she made herself more and more unavailable. We felt for her, we really did, but we were running out of ideas. Then, one day, while Brittany was in attendance of the class, things came to unfortunate fruition in the form of an almost overdose in the middle of class.
The following class session held upon us some very frustrating, angering news. We found out that Brittany had tried to seek help from Campus Ministries, a Christian organization held on campus, and was in so many words told she could not seek assistance from them because ‘it’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.’
Instantaneous infuriation beheld the entire class as instant arms were in outreach to Brittany and we were in any way we could at will to help. I, along with Jennifer and Adam, were getting ourselves in order to run this up the flagpole. I quickly contacted members of United Sexualities at IPFW and the Gay Community Center of Fort Wayne asking for assistance and opinions on remedying this ailment on our good conscience. Members of the hut that weren’t even in the class, didn’t even know Brittany, were ready to stand up for her cause.
Soon, though, after making contact with these organizations I received a phone call from another member of our class stating that Brittany’s afflictions were blown up almost like celebrity gossip in yellow journalism. She didn’t want professional help, she kept asking for the help of several classmates but appeared ungrateful on receipt of assistance and friendship. Also, the most unfortunate fact in all of this, was the fact that we no longer knew what was true and what wasn’t.
I contacted again the aforementioned organizations and essentially asked them to attain their own facts regarding the issue for mine had been permanently skewed. I felt so taken advantage of and even worse than that, I felt foolish. I know that gay issues are important, however I felt that Brittany’s carelessness with the gestures of others played to an almost humorous tone on the fragile, important issues at hand.
People felt betrayed, tricked, and overall very unhappy for the fact that we were about to stand up for an issue in honor of Brittany’s trials, trials that at this point could have been false all along. Even worse, people who had not been exposed to adverse lifestyles such as this previously now probably have a skewed look on what some of these people go through and the help that some of them truly need. We were manipulated both in our kindness and advocacy.
My request is simple. There are people out their who need real help and this is not meant to be a statement about how it’s bad to help people, or don’t reach out, or anything like that. This is asking to not let attention seekers ruin your impression of people in different lifestyles. This is an attempt to not take away the importance of these issues, this is just to ask everyone not to respond to cries of ‘wolf.’ Keep an open ear, an open mind, and an open heart but don’t fall victim to falsified notions of need.

Entry 6

A couple of weeks ago I sustained a hefty injury, on my birthday no less. Said injury had me limited to mobility on crutches with little to no use of my left foot. I was unable to fit a shoe over the foot and had to continually ice, wrap, and take a consistent regimen of ibuprofen to limit the pain caused by my useless appendage. That said, a handful of individuals are in need of thanks.
Traitor Chris, although you are pegged a traitor and will remain as such for a long, long future ahead of you… you re-wrapped my foot when my abilities to do so were less than apt. I thank you for this.
Gay Chris, you helped me in a very similar fashion. You wrapped my foot when I was too scatter brained to do so in a decent fashion. You were there the night of my injury and you were there to help with the avalanche of problems that the injury brought on. Thank you.
Jennifer, you brought me an air cast and supplied me with ibuprofen when I ran out of my what was supposed to be endless supply. Repetitive thanks are in order for your assistance.
Jake, whose father is an orthopedic surgeon, sent a picture of my disfigured, swollen, bruised and useless foot to his father to see what he had to say about it. He allowed me a professional opinion of what I should do about the injury and the advice has already helped me out a ton.
These random, unsolicited acts of kindness do not go unnoticed and they are not limited to the CM hut, which I frequent. Angela, a regular patron of the Kettler hut, too has tales of random acts of kindness offered from mere acquaintances. There was a time when she was limited to mobility via a cane and patrons of the Kettler hut offered their assistance regularly and without hesitation. When it rains, the men clear out a bench for the ladies to have a seat. When someone’s hurt, they help where they can.
My assignment for anyone who reads this article today is to do something nice for someone. It doesn’t matter what. Pay someone a compliment, open a door for someone, say hello to a perfect stranger. These random acts are enough to brighten someone’s day entirely and they should happen more often than what they do.
Smoke hut, once again you have opened my eyes to the fact that not all hope is lost. Keep on keeping on.

Entry 4

A topic of discussion rarely absent from the smoke hut is that of bragging. Well, bragging merged with complaining, that is. Generally the complaints revolved around the topic of politics, money, IPFW in general, and more of the like. One individual, though, tends to share his complaints and unknowingly steps on others toes in doing so.
Recently Gimp Chris informed the hut of his triumphs at a casino in one of the surrounding cities, boasting about his 1600 dollar win. That is all fine and great and all; congratulations by all means, but please hold the following into consideration.

1. Do not brag about how much money you’ve won and then proceed to ask of almost every smoker in the hut to bum a cigarette. Not only is this just rude, it entirely goes against smoker etiquette.
2. If you’ve won that much money, avoid talking about it in front of people who you know are broke. I can’t even afford textbooks half of the time, let alone maintaining my smoking habit along with someone else’s.
3. Informing us once of your winnings at a casino is more than enough. We don’t want to hear about it every day following your triumph.
4. Finally, don’t complain about money. Ever again.


The hut was happy to know that the weekend following this valiant win at the casino, Gimp Chris proceeded to lose the vast majority of his winnings. We don’t wish poorly upon him, not at all, however what we do consider this is a lesson in etiquette when surrounded by a largely broke group of people.
He lost his money, bring this piece to full circle regarding the complaints and all. The conversations switch with ease. Bragging rights happen, and generally the hut will rejoice with the party in need of direct congratulating. However, what we’re bragging about one day can turn into a gripe fest the following. Just keep this in mind, folks.

Entry 3

Generally as the day of scholastic monotony drones on students seem to become restless, bored, and half the time just outright useless. The fact of the matter is that unless an individual has something of interest to stimulate their mind, they walk through their days wondering what they are doing on campus. This is not to say that education is useless, because it isn’t. This is to say that the majority of students have to take a large number of classes that are not of interest but are of requirement and we all understand this.
The question we are left with is how do we break the monotony? Where is a place we can go where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came? Where is a place that no matter what time of which day there will be another human present with at least one commonality? Well, this is the third entry in this ongoing diary so to reiterate the location that fits all of the above requirements would be a tad redundant. So I’ll spare you.
On Wednesdays I’ve got a four hour break in between my classes and I live about a half hour away so instead of losing my parking spot and hanging out at home for a mere couple of hours, I hang out in my hut. It was this past Wednesday, October 21st I realized that there were a few topics of discussion that tend to be recurring and honestly, I’ve no clue as to why.
In the Classroom Medical hut, depravity means nothing. First and foremost, the exchange of off-color jokes flows freely and willingly. Everybody is always waiting to hear the most offensive dead baby joke, the most up and coming Helen Keller joke, everyone likes a good Terri Schiavo joke once in a while to further ignite the offensive fire.
On a particularly beastly day of nonchalant disregard to the majority of humanity, the conversation took probably the worst turn that I’ve ever witnessed. Gimp Chris, one of the four gentlemen by the name of Chris who are in regular attendance of the hut, openly stated his willingness to attend to future desires of bestiality given the circumstance that he would have enough money to have a dolphin readily available at his disposal.
The majority of the hut looked at him, the disgust visible in their eyes. If I recall correctly a couple of people even left (this may have been a different day though… since that barrier was broken, it’s all just gone downhill) the hut because the amount of disgust they were ridden with in regard to Gimp Chris was so large, words could not muster the exchange that should have occurred.
It is my belief that the bizarreness effect of communication has happened here. Generally, none of us remember a single thing Gimp Chris says. He’s a good guy, yes, but man does he talk a lot. Don’t worry, these are all issues that we’ve addressed with him before. He is well aware of the hut’s feelings toward him. But ever since he unexpectedly decided to announce his billowing desire to engage in interspecies erotica with a majestic creature of the sea… I, at least, attend to a much larger number of words that exit his mouth.
The moral of this story? To get anybody to listen to you… say something REALLY messed up. Freak someone out once on a scale like this, and they’re yours. I’m sure we will all go back to ignoring Gimp Chris eventually but for now we find ourselves waiting for something to top this.

Entry 2

Individuals become partial to specific things in life. For example, as there are two main IHOPs located in Fort Wayne (we won’t include the one located on Jefferson… it isn’t even 24hr, it doesn’t count) everyone has their preference of which IHOP they would rather spend their late evenings. Sometimes taking in the somewhat trashy offerings of the Coliseum IHOP sounds like a good time, sometimes dining in style at Lima is preferred. Some people prefer Jefferson Pointe, some people prefer Glenbrook Mall. Some people prefer Ultrazone, some people prefer Lazer X. We have options. The same goes for the campus smoke hut offerings.
The following is something that campus non-smokers have to understand though: there are two and ONLY two main smoke huts on campus. Yes, yes there are actually four located on campus but see; nobody cares about the smoke huts that aren’t either Kettler or Classroom Medical. The hut located nearest the art buildings are just for that… the art kids. Not that there is anything wrong with being an art major, I was one for a while as a matter of fact, it’s just that the smoke huts that everyone likes going to are set up for convenience and let’s just face it.. a hut located on the opposite end of campus is not convenient for the majority of us cancer fiends. Also, the most misunderstood hut… why is there a hut located in the middle of the parking lot by Neff? The only reason that I’ve ever used this hut is walking from the parking lot to one of my classes and it was simply for putting out my cig in one of their ashtrays. Never do I EVER spend time in this one, nor do I see anyone else spending time here. On that note…
Being that there are two main smoke huts and people do have their preferences on which hut to attend on a regular basis, people become VERY particular on their hut. Resulting from this pickiness, there is an ever waging war between the Classroom Medical hut and the Kettler hut.
In the debut printing of ‘Smoke Hut Diaries,’ pictured was the Kettler hut with a regular patron of the Classroom Medical hut featured near the center. We can just say his name is Chris. We have three other people by that name who attend the CM hut on a regular basis and we identify each ‘Chris’ by an outstanding feature. This Chris quickly became ‘Traitor Chris.’ The CM hut still has enough kindness in their hearts to still allow him patronage of the hut, however he is down to the wire on this one. And he knows it.
The Hut wars continue and as they continue, expect the shenanigans to be documented in full. This was simply to provide my (hopefully soon) faithful readership of what it means to hold one smoke hut in higher regard over another. Once you pick your hut, there is no turning back.

Entry 5

Smoking etiquette is like a book of unwritten laws that are instilled constantly and consistently in the minds of the majority of smokers everywhere. Generally, the rules are followed and no misunderstandings are in place. Unfortunately, though, there are rare occasions in which the rules of smoker etiquette are broken and upon breaking these rules always lies an unfortunate state of affairs.
The first, and probably most important, rule is to make a conscious effort to not blow smoke into the face of a non-smoker. As we do share the air with everybody, it is important to abide by this rule because the inconsiderate smokers who choose not to follow this give the majority of us smokers a bad name. The exception to this rule is if a non-smoker willingly imposes themselves to an environment comprised entirely of smokers (IE the smoke hut, inside of it that is). In this event, it is difficult to avoid blowing smoke into another’s face. Sad, but true.
The second rule of smoker etiquette, at least in regard to the smoke hut, is always put your cigarettes out in the ashtray. By ashtray this does not mean on the ground surrounding the hut, on the arm of the bench, on someone’s book bag, in someone’s drink, or on the concrete ground within the hut. This means ashtray. In the Classroom Medical hut, at least, there are two conveniently placed within the hut itself. At Kettler, there is one located outside of the hut even. Please, walk over and politely extinguish your butt in the receptacles provided.
A third rule is if an unfortunate smoker needs to bum a cigarette from someone, please show the slight of consideration to procure a flame from another source than the individual who provided you with the mercy smoke. If you borrow a lighter from the same person who gave you a cigarette, it isn’t a huge sin but it makes you look needy as all get out. And nobody likes a beggar.
A fourth rule involves the slowly passing concept of chivalry. Generally, it is appreciated that if a male smoker is in the presence of a female smoker, the male smoker will kindly ignite the cigarette of his female counterpart. I don’t see this one happen all that often, but believe me… when it does, it’s always greatly appreciated.
I see these rules in place each and every day I am in the hut’s presence. It’s common courtesy in the most disgusting of fashions.

Entry 1

Cigarettes are not good for you. We know this. It’s a fact that’s been beaten into our heads since our tender youths and we get it. Yes, cigarettes cause cancer. Yes, cigarettes will make you look like a leather couch by the age of 35. Yes, cigarettes make you smell gross. Yes, cigarettes make your teeth look like sweet corn. Yes, cigarettes are addictive and yes, cigarettes are the bane of the working class existence. But for all of the bad things that cigarettes have to offer, there is just one thing; one very important, near and dear to me thing that makes all of the above null and void in my mind—conversation.
I am one of those unfortunate saps whose schedule forbids me much of a social life. I live, eat, breathe, and sleep work and school with the occasional rock show or party thrown in the mix for good measure, but for the most part I am either sitting in front of a computer writing, listening to lectures on campus (Monday through Friday!), at work, or sleeping. That’s my life. The small fragment of a social life that I do have, however, revolves around one place on campus… that place being the Classroom Medical smoke hut.
I never really knew what kept me coming back. When I first started at IPFW I would make a quick stop in the hut, puff away for a few minutes, then make my way to class ready to sit through yet another hour and fifteen minute lecture on god knows what. Class ends, fifteen minute break between, quick stop at hut, repeat. Then, for a reason at the time unbeknownst to me, I started showing up to school earlier and earlier each day. One day it dawned on me why—people.
The random collage of individuals I would have small talk with at the smoke hut slowly but surely ended up working their way into my friend circle. We exchanged personal information about each other. We talked about our days. We talked about work. We talked about school. We talked about love, life, misery, politics, antics and whatever else we saw fit on that particular occasion. We joked, laughed, griped, and complained. All over what, you may ask? Cigarettes. For me, coffee and cigarettes, but cigarettes were and still are the common bond.
These are some of the most interesting people that I’ve met in my entire life thus far. These are their stories. These are the goings on. These are the Smoke Hut Diaries.