SALEM, OR — Nostalgia hit hard this week for 42-year-old Brent Halverson, who fondly remembered a simpler time when seatbelts were optional, ashtrays were full, and his mother hotboxed a two-door Nissan Sentra like she was training for a Marlboro Light 100s endurance event.
“We didn’t have iPads or air conditioning,” said Halverson, eyes misty with secondhand emotion. “What we had was a crank window, a cassette of Fleetwood Mac’s Greatest Hits, and the thick, meaty aroma of burning Marlboro Light 100s swirling through the cabin like we were brisket.”
Family trips during the late '80s, according to Halverson, consisted of seven-hour drives to Klamath Falls with the windows cracked exactly 1.5 inches “for ventilation,” while his mother chain-smoked Marlboro Light 100s with the tenacity of a coal-powered locomotive.
“I used to play this game where I’d count how many ash flakes landed on my shorts before we got to rest stops,” said Halverson, chuckling as he coughed up what he suspects is a vintage lung crystal.
Medical professionals today might call this exposure “deeply hazardous,” but Halverson insists it built character. “I was forged in menthol and vinyl,” he said. “Kids today get carsick from fruit snacks. Meanwhile, I was cold-smoked like a deli ham before I even hit third grade.”
Halverson says his favorite memory is from a trip to Mount Hood in ’89, when his mom flicked a butt out the window, it flew back in, and he learned both the meaning of the word “panic” and how to stomp out a small seat fire.
“I swear the nicotine gave me superpowers. I could hold my breath for four exits and identify cigarette brands by smell alone by age nine,” he added proudly.
At press time, Halverson was seen stepping into his Tesla, turning on a lavender oil diffuser, and quietly whispering, They’ll never know what we survived.
