Zippo Lessons: Journal 9/16/06

Posted by Ms. Babble

September 16, 2006

Historically, a zippo in my possession has a short lifespan. But I remember them all fondly. My brother sent me one when I first got out to Iraq. He managed to get one shipped to me with a friggin’ gallon of zippo fluid (take that customs!). I loved the damn thing. When I was home on leave and flew to Nebraska to visit my mom, I accidently forgot it in my pocket. The airport security officer inevitably found it and paraded it in front of my face as he plunked it in his “confiscated booty” box. I literally cried all the way to the terminal. (I’ll bet you didn’t think I was so sentimental, eh?)

I got another one in Nebraska that next day. It was identical to the one my brother gave me and held sentimental values as I tied to my mother. It’s death came when I forgot it one day in the guard tower. That was the same zippo that helped me read my map in the dark when my tower got mortored. By the time I got back into the tower the next day, it was gone.

I bought one out here shortly after but it was the lamest zippo I’ve ever seen. For some ungodly reason they stock our post exchange with gaudy souvenirs; T-shirts that say “Balad, Iraq”, hats, coffee mugs, shot glasses, etc. They all have some assanine saying proclaiming that the owner of said souvenir was here. Every time I go in there I see all this crap in stock but never something of actual value to us… like sugar or Cheese Nips. Anyways, the only zippo in stock said “Hard Rock Cafe: Baghdad”. I was completely embarrassed by it but for lack of any other fire, I bought it. So sue me.

Fast forward to Qatar.

I ran across a little man who had a little stand with a little assortment of zippos. To my glee I spotted a zippo I had never seen before and said to myself, “Self! You must have it!” And so it was mine.

I had learned many zippo lessons in the past but the one thing I hadn’t figured out was how to get one past customs (To get it back into Iraq from Qatar, they scan everything). The fella I hung out with in Qatar offered me with a brilliant plan!

I present to you, the Kevlar helmet.

In our helmets we have detachable cushioning pads. The theory is that every head is different and each soldier can move the pads to make it as comfortable as possible. What did my brilliant friend propose?

If I removed the center pad and placed the zippo underneath it, it would totally go past detection! The theory being that kevlar is not penitrable by x-rays. It would just look like a normal helmet and I could go on my way with my little lighter stashed in the center. It’s brilliant, don’t you think?

Fast forward to Jami standing in line at Navy customs.

I place the helmet on the conveyer like everyone else. I empty my pockets and walk through the metal detector without any hassle. I go to the end of the conveyor and watch as my baggage and kevlar go through the x-ray machine. And as they get halfway down the belt… it stops. My heart does as well.

The customs officer calls me over. Our conversations is as follows:

Officer: Is this your helmet?

Me: um… well, these are my bags but I don’t know if that’s my helmet. They all look the same, you know.

Officer: There appears to be a zippo in the middle of this helmet.

Me: Oh, really? How did a zippo get in a helmet?

Officer: People don’t realize that we can see through kevlar.

Me: (trying to look sincerely concerned) Really.

Officer: Do you smoke?

Me: Yes. But I have my lighter in my pocket. (I was carrying a disposable lighter.)

Officer: (pops off the center pad of the helmet. My zippo is just chillin’ there saying to me, “Don’t let me die!”)

Me: Well, would you look at that. There really was a zippo in that helmet.

Officer: (Grimaces, opens the zippo, takes it apart, smells the cotton.) There doesn’t appear to be any fluid in this lighter. It’s fine to take on the plane if it doesn’t have any fluid in it.

Me: (continuing to try and show sincere concern)

Officer: Here. Take it. You’ve earned a free lighter.

Me: (extremely gracious) Thank you, kind officer man!

I start to walk away with my bags and helmet when I hear him yell behind me, “We’ve got another one!” Apparently the fella who concocted this plan did the same as well.

And here she is. My zippo of the moment. Grand in it splendor. Safe and sound under my protective eye. (Yeah, that’s right. It’s a whale fin.)