A curiosity at best: Fitzgerald's "new" story in The New Yorker

I'll guess that the author of The Great Gatsby had a pretty good sense of what among his literary materials was suitable for publication and what was not. F. Scott Fitzgerald's TGG is no doubt the most perfect (if not necessarily the best) American novel - that is, for its style, economy, plot construction, evocative qualities, breadth of vision or scope, and psychological insight - the things that matter in literature. Moby-Dick may be grander, The Scarlet Letter may be darker, Light in August may be edgier, and so on - but TGG seems flawless - nobody would want to, or need to, change a word (other than maybe the gambler's accent and the anti-Semitic slurs his accent entails or implies?). Thought FSF is not primarily known for his short stories, there are some great ones - and I think they're best when they're closest to the actual events of his life: he never wrote a memoir (today, he probably would have), but his stories touch on the deep sadness and trouble of the life of a talented alcoholic. His weaker stories, in my view, are those that rely on a plot gimmick: I re-read Benjamin Button a few years ago, after the movie release, and was underwhelmed, and I was totally bored with Diamond as Big as the Ritz. What a surprise in current New Yorker to find a one-pager by FSF, Thanks for the Light, apparently recently found in FSF's unpublished papers. Though story is OK, it probably should have stayed there - though who can blame the NYer eds for jumping at the chance to publish an unknown till now FSF story, maybe the last one? Story tells of a woman in the mid-West in what is probably 1920s, a corset and girdle saleswoman, who calls on various clients and is obsessed to distraction by her need and desire for cigarettes. So many of the people she meets don't allow smoking in their office or disapprove of the habit and don't allow it around them, etc. - and she's driven to distraction, sneaks off for private puffs, etc. You don't have to be a genius to figure out that FSF was really writing about his own addiction to alcohol - and having some fun by making the protagonist as unlike him as possible and with a different addiction. The joke is on Fitzgerald, in a way, in the course of history - as he was taking a shot at the whole Prohibition era and trying to show how amusing it would be if we treated cigarettes as an object to be banned - and of course today that's come to pass: we do ban cigarettes in most restaurants and offices, and many people ban cigarettes from their homes, cars, etc. Anyway, the story sheds little light on Fitzgerald - it's mainly a curiosity, and though FSF probably knew it wasn't worth of publication, it's OK to have it among us, in the light.