Tobacco

This is a cheese-adjacent story.

Early in high school (1977-ish), the French classes took a field trip (with M. Dueri) to a cheese factory in the SF Bay Area that specialized in Camembert. We arrived after a bus ride of a couple of hours (which was not too bad) and then took a stretch break (just milling about). Polite friend that he was, Dennis Michniuk offered me and Walden Friedman some chewing tobacco out of a white paper pouch. I had never had any before, and I knew nothing of any reliable substance about it. I didn’t even know that spitting isn’t just an option, so I was gnawing and swallowing. Before Dennis even had time to spit or question my not, we were being hurried inside, so I just gulped the wad down; I mean, reaching in and pulling the sodden mass out of my mouth (much less figuring out where to put it) seemed like it would be a gross thing to do in front of people (or even behind and off to one side of people). It wasn’t until we were done with the tour and back outside again that I found out that Dennis had panicked once we got into the building and stuffed his chaw under a metal frame  that was holding rows of cheese.