Lifetime guarantee; until you die

Although it is overcast and drizzling rain today, I decided it was time to bring my favorite pair of worn-out jeans out of retirement. I always did have an affinity for Levi’s, especially 527’s with their boot cut flair at the bottom. I have worn about the same size since I reached adulthood, 33 – 32.

I like these jeans because they’re full of holes and comfortable. The knees are long gone with the past summers of my golf course maintenance job. The pockets are worn out with the years of friction from my pocketknife and change on the right side, and my lighter on the left.

When I noticed the hole on the left today, I suddenly became aware of my lighter. It’s strange how a person can handle, transport, and use an item everyday but never fully become aware of it until the right circumstances present themselves. So I pulled it out for examination.

First, it came to my attention that I have been smoking cigarettes now for six years. Six is certainly a small single digit number, but six years is a long time, especially to be smoking. I quit for seven days when I had the flu in December of 2003, and spent three terriftying days last Christmas snowed in at my parents house without any cigarettes. Other than that, I have smoked at least a half-pack per day, everyday. But I don’t want to talk about smoking, or pants, but Zippos.

About 10 years ago I had a dream: I was at a flea market (the very next day my parents were planning to attended one in Louisville). In the dream I bought an Zippo from an old man. I suppose the lighter in the dream could have possessed magical powers, or stood to symbolize something in my subconscious, but being the kid that I was, when I awoke I was determined to find and secure a Zippo that day.

Of course after explaining the dream to my parents, they saw no need for me to have a lighter. I thought otherwise, believing in the power of dreams and being somewhat superstitious, as most 12-year-old boys tend to be. Regardless of their skepticism, I kept my eyes peeled all day for the specific shape and design of the lighter I had dreamt about. I left that day disappointed and feeling defeated. I thought sure I was meant to leave with a lighter that would somehow change my destiny and add hours of fun to my life, but I came home empty handed.

Sometime later, I was telling my grandma (who was notorious for her wild dreams and also a smoker up until her death) all about my Zippo dream and my futile search to find one at the flea market. She went back to her bedroom and returned with a Zippo. It had belonged to her brother Elmo who had died – ironically enough from lung cancer – long before I was born. It was silver, polish-worn with years of use and had a blue label on one side bearing his last name, Leach. She allowed me to hold it but said she would give it to me when I was older.

I forgot all about Zippos until the summer of 2000. I was in Gatlinburg, Tenn. on vacation when I decided it was about time to have a descent lighter. I bought an antique-brass style Zippo with “D 2000” stamped on the bottom. The “D” represents the month of April in which the lighter was manufactured (i.e. A – L represents January – December).

So this month being April, my Zippo is officially celebrating its sixth birthday. I like it for several reasons. Regardless of the famous company slogan “the windproof lighter,” it’s not really windproof. Sometimes, it doesn’t even light when the wind is blowing exceptionally hard. However, its design allows the smoker to angle the hinged lid in such a way to block the wind (with the help of a shielding hand) to light a cigarette, pipe, joint*, etc. more easily.

Another reason I like Zippos is for the required maintenance. Unlike many Americans, I am not that willing to adhere to the “faster, better, cheaper” philosophy that has leaked its way out of NASA and into society. I enjoy refilling the fluid and waiting to trim or replace the wick. I like the clicking sound it makes when I open it. I like the smell and taste of the cigarette when I light it (I only buy metal cans of Red Devil lighter fluid).

Plus, all Zippos come with a lifetime guarantee. If it ever breaks, I can send it back to Bradford, Pa. for repair. I also like to see other people with Zippos as well as the wide variety of tricks people attempt while drunk (usually the same trick, which they can never execute). I might go as far as to say that all Zippo users share a certain bond, a certain appreciation for the aesthetic value of smoking.

My grandma passed away in July of 2001. As the family rummaged through her things to be divided among the kids and grandkids, the old Zippo that belonged to my uncle Elmo resurfaced. I had forgotten all about it, but on seeing it I asserted that it had been promised to me years ago and it was handed over without hesitation. My grandpa, however, didn’t turn loose of it before adding, “Don’t start smoking or anything” to which I just nodded and pocketed the artifact; a reminder to quit smoking one day before it kills me.

*It is disputed as to whether or not it is appropriate to light a joint with a Zippo as some smokers complain about the taste of the lighter fluid.