Yesterday, I did something that I have never done before. Something I thought I would never do. I bought a pack of cigarettes. Three packs, actually.

It all started two months ago when I came to Shanghai, China on a short-term work visit. While I have been here, I have noticed that there are a heck of a lot of smokers in Shanghai. Walking down the street, every third adult male is smoking cigarettes. In fact, health officials say that 36.5% of local residents smoke, so that’s about right.

And smoking doesn’t have the stigma attached to it here that it does in the states. Heck, even the front desk clerk at my gym smokes… on the job… in a small office right near the workout room. Makes for an interesting workout.

So, why was I, a dedicated and some would say outspoken non-smoker, buying cigarettes?

For my driver.

Yes, I bought cigarettes for my driver. It is common in China to give people small gifts when they have been particularly helpful to you. This driver has been particularly helpful to me.

Even though I don’t know his name (and probably couldn’t pronounce it even if I did know it) and even though he and I speak nowhere near the same language (except for the “word” OK which he uses with various inflections to mean everything from “is everyone on the bus?” to “geeze, I almost ran over that cyclist!”), I have grown attached to him. He is a kind, gentle man whose life outside of the 3 hours we spend together every day going to and from work I have no conception of.

One thing I do know is that this man smokes. He smokes like without it, he would die. If the bus is stopped for more than 2 minutes, he gets out to have a smoke. I’ve seen him smoke 4 cigarettes while waiting for me to have breakfast (an event that takes between 15 and 20 minutes). And while I do not approve of his smoking in the least, I wanted to get him a gift that he would appreciate.

In China, it is common to give cigarettes as presents. I know people who spend large amounts of money each month on cigarettes that they do not smoke, but instead give to others as gifts (or “gifts,” depending on what those others can do for them).

And it is against company policy for me to tip my driver in cash. He could be fired if I did. And, because I know nothing about his life outside of his driving (and smoking), cigarettes were my only option.

So, yesterday, I went to a local shop and bought the “Double Happiness” cigarettes in the green foil pack. Why did I have to stifle the impulse to tell the guy behind the counter that they weren’t for me? He didn’t care; he didn’t judge me.

But the look on my driver’s face this morning when I gave him the gift was worth all my embarrassment. He was so happy to be noticed, to be remembered. It didn’t matter that I realized I bought the wrong green-foil-wrapped cigarettes (there is more than one?). What mattered was that I had thought of him.

Some may say that I am promoting a bad habit or that my gift will hasten this man’s death. To that I say, the only thing I encouraged was a connection between this man and me, a connection between American Middle Class and Chinese Working Class, a connection between two people which resulted in this man feeling better about himself.

And I’d do it again.