Columnist John Katsilometes: Why deny it? It's cool to inhale

John Katsilometes is the Sun assistant features editor. His column appears Mondays. Reach him at [email protected] or 259-2327.

I have a friend who has been a successful medical supply salesman for about 10 years. He delivers a full complement of important items -- such as gauze and splints and hypodermic needles -- to dozens of hospitals and medical clinics in his vast service area.

When he started his new job his company sent him on a two-day instructional seminar, where one of the sessions was titled "The Art of Selling."

My friend entered the seminar believing he had already uncovered the "Art of Selling." He had always been taught to sell a product or service that would have mass appeal. Everyone, he deduced, eventually visits a hospital and requires gauze, splints or hypodermic needles.

But the true "art," he learned, was persuading the public to buy something as prevalent and available as the great outdoors itself. The real artists were the wizards able to sell products such as sod (dirt) and spring water.

Deanne Lamb is an artist. She sells air.

Lamb is part owner and manager of Breathe ... An Oxygen Bar, on the corner of West Sahara and Decatur. It's the first establishment of its kind in Las Vegas, trumpeting the quirky motto, "It's OK to inhale."

Lamb and her husband, Shawn, are business partners with University of Nevada, Reno, professor and mechanical engineer Kevin McFarland. It was McFarland who developed the little generators that pump out 97 percent pure oxygen through thin plastic tubes.

Somewhat more than a passing fad, Breathe celebrates its first anniversary Feb. 4. The bar has a devoted following that defies categorization -- families, businessmen, casino employees, former pot heads, even would-be politicians have popped in for a little oxygen boost and some airy repartee.

"Steve Miller was in here a lot when he was running for mayor," said the ever-energetic, 38-year-old Lamb. "(Possible Senate candidate) Ed Bernstein comes in a lot. We get all kinds."

Having never patronized an oxygen bar, I attended a Breathe function -- a "mixer" -- last week. I warily ducked into the darkened club and sought out the first person wearing a name tag. It turned out to be a real estate agent.

"I'm waiting to get hooked up," she said.

I finally spotted Lamb and she poured me a Cranberry-colored, alcohol-free herbal martini.

"It's got more than a dozen herbs," Lamb said. "One of them is an ancient Chinese aphrodisiac."

The drink is called "Kiss-Kiss." I had three.

But I wasn't there just to sip Breathe's magic love potion. Placed on the rounded bar are a dozen or so oxygen stations, each with four separate containers filled with colored fluid. The liquids are scented elixirs used to create oxygen aromas such as lime, eucalyptus, chamomile and tangerine.

One particularly powerful oxygen aroma is a mixture of lemon, peppermint, rosemary and sweet basil called "Revitalize." Three glasses of "Kiss-Kiss" and a few whiffs of "Revitalize" and I would've turned into a young Warren Beatty.

Lamb led me to a soft, black-leather chair and inserted a plastic tube into my nose. She then plugged me into an oxygen station and kicked on "Sublime," a lime-scented oxygen aroma, and said she'd be back in 10 minutes.

At $1 a minute, that's a $10 session. No big deal, until our accounting department is presented an expense voucher for $10 worth of air.

After a couple of minutes a Breathe "technician" stopped by and said, "You're breathing wrong."

"I've been breathing for a long time," I said. "Pretty much all my life. I've never had a problem."

She informed me that the best way to breathe -- whether pure oxygen or our own exhaust-scented Las Vegas air -- is to inhale through your nose and exhale out of your mouth. I was doing too much nose exhaling, nullifying the calming effects of "Sublime."

I breathed in and out properly, gaining a couple of bonus minutes (cha-ching!) when Lamb had to take a long-distance phone call. She finally unhooked me (you get to keep the plastic nose tubes) and asked how I felt.

I wasn't sure. There was some tingling going on, but that might have been the "Kiss-Kiss." But I did feel clear-headed, perky and much more friendly and conversational than when I walked in. I stayed for a while, chatting up equally ebullient patrons, unsure of whether it was the oxygen or the martini or the general vibe of the place that was giving me added bounce.

"It's the oxygen, believe me," Lamb said. "Men have a more difficult time of accepting it, but if you do it over a period of time, you'll notice a difference. You'll feel good, with a lot of energy, and that's how you're supposed to feel."

She's probably right. Not to say I'm buying into the whole concept, but I still have my plastic tube and my afternoon is free.

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