When I used to come home after gigs in Germany, I would just go straight to the washing machine and toss everything I was wearing into it and close its door, just to keep the smell from spreading. I couldn't shower at 0200 or 0300 in the morning without disturbing the neighbors, so I'd go to bed like that. The next morning, every square inch on my body smelled like an ash tray. Yuck!Now, a few years later. . . I don't come home from a gig stinking...of *smoke.
Pretty much the same experience in Australia (minus the Seneca nation). Pubs and bars were the last bastion of smokers but now the desparate go outside. In my office building the smokers outside in the street are predominantly women - about 2 or 3 to 1. It kind of looks a bit like they are plying for some red light trade.When New York went No Smoking, a number of bar owners and restaurateurs announced The Official End Of The World: they'd rend their garments, go out of business, kill puppies, etc. Now, a few years later: they're still in business -- in fact, a number say business is better! -- I don't come home from a gig stinking (or, at least, not stinking of *smoke*...), and the puppies live to bite another day.
(Unless you gig at one of the casinos around here, owned by the Seneca Nation. Desperate people, oblivious to the humanity around them, smoke feverishly while pulling the levers of their slot machines. Astoundingly, the House wins more often than they do. Good times...)