The Real Smoking Thread

Must be the mountaineer in you. ;)

My office ashtray is an old-fashioned boiled sweets tin. The lid says Blackcurrant, I think, though it could be Mixed Fruits. Either way, the lid is essential.

My particular drug is Camel Plains, with twelve to fifteen fixes a day.

I've smoked untipped (non-filter, for the uninitiated) since my middle student days, when I switched from Gauloises filter to plains at the behest of a relative in final year Medicine. Apparently it's quite well-known in medical circles that filter-tipped cigarettes are worse than non-filters. At least it was back then.

Generally, my day-to-day igniter is a black MiniBIC, though I quite often also use Lion lucifers. About a fortnight ago my wife, who recently recovered from a six-month bout of non-smoking, appropriated my last MiniBIC, so I've been using an ancient Zippo, which has been pleasantly retro.
 
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Lights up a Lucky Strike Filter in appreciation of this thread
 
Arthur said:
Generally, my day-to-day igniter is a black MiniBIC, though I quite often also use Lion lucifers. About a fortnight ago my wife, who recently recovered from a six-month bout of non-smoking, appropriated my last MiniBIC, so I've been using an ancient Zippo, which has been pleasantly retro.
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Ah yes - the Zippo...

Z0: So in '92 (I think) we finally leave the confines of Mafikeng* to visit old friends in Cape Town. By this time, I have amassed enough money to reward myself with some decent gear: my first Zippo. There was this tobacconist in Cavendish Square who let me buy a plain black one with a red stroke on the edges. We get to my buddy's house and we're out of blitz to light a fire so we use paint. On a stick. Which we ignite with my new friends. Paint drips onto the Zippo fücking up the finish. Attempts to remove the damage are much like that episode of Father Ted with the car. We went from a slight white blemish to a Zippo sanded down to its brass so poorly that the hinge disintegrated. I repaired it with leather and it lasted another few years, having been damaged this badly on day 1.

Z1: A Harley Zippo. Lasted me well until my good friend Alan decided he preferred it to his lighter. I hope he still has it but since we lost touch back in 99 I have no idea.

Z2: A Jack Daniels affair, it was kindly removed from my ownership by some scaly P.O.S. whom I hope burnt his house down with it.

Z3: When I was only smoking cigars, my ex-wife thought she'd get me another one for them there stogies. Now, the fuel from a Zippo can kill the beauty of a Cuban from ignition so I while I was moved by the gesture, I had to explain the problem to her - she returned it and replaced it with a prometheus.

Z4: The fire of champions:

zippo1.jpg

My deeply religious mother raised us to love all mankind. Drop the F-bomb in our house, and you were pigging up the dog shït today. Drop the K-bomb, and you went to bed with an empty stomach and a sore årse - anything but that kind of language. So we grew up being reminded daily how wrong apartheid was to the point that I became somewhat of a revolutionary. I've calmed down, mind you, but those lessons you do not forget.

For the 2009-2010 New Year, my brother's wife kick us all out of bed and says we're going to some farm between Buhrmansdrif and Lichtenburg where we can drink and braai and sokkie and do whatever it is those hillbillies do. On New Years Day, we're out of booze and head into Lichtenburg to refresh. At a particular store there, I see they have Zippos behind the counter. I ask the price. The lady is being rushed by a horde of would-be hair-of-dog chasers and glances briefly down at the price: R155 for a plain Zippo. I then grab my booze, thinking that's a good price for a particular Zippo that is not one of the plain ones. Getting to the counter, her boss is now angry at the queue and drops all form of racial abuse at his poor slave. What an ass, I think. He could help by taking the other till. He doesn't. I ask her for the Zippo I want and she tells me that one is R399. This abusive S.O.B. returns, tells her to stop messing around and finally makes himself useful by opening the other till. He grabs the Zippo out of her hand, grabs my bottle of Red Heart and scans the lot. For the Zippo he scans the cheap price. She turns to advise him of his error and again he tells her to serve her queue before she can even tell him what he has done. "Ja, baas" she whimpers and then smiles at me and nods. I smiled back...

And that, together with its incredible appearance, is what makes it the Fire of Champions:

zippo2.jpg
 
GreGorGy said:
Ah yes - the Zippo...

... the Fire of Champions
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Thanks. Nice story. Your mom sounds like a rare bird.

Here's my rather discoloured plain bronze Zippo:
camel_and_zippo.jpg
 
Arthur said:
Thanks. Nice story. Your mom sounds like a rare bird.

Here's my rather discoloured plain bronze Zippo:
Click to expand...

More like a nun. In fact, her sister is.

From the state of it, I would assume that it is old - at the bottom, the date occurs. In that instance, probably by means of dots and roman numerals. Wikipedia has the dating scheme.
 
GreGorGy said:
From the state of it, I would assume that it is old - at the bottom, the date occurs. In that instance, probably by means of dots and roman numerals. Wikipedia has the dating scheme.
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It's before 9am on a Monday and I've already learned several new and important facts about the universe. Thanks!

zipposerial.jpg


Mine's a K 02. So that makes it November 2002.
 
My preferred incendiary device whenever anything needs to be set aflame is a very well-used Zippo.
 
I tried to aquire a taste for cigarettes in high school but it never stuck.

I then became a bit of a daggakop for a while after school until I realized how stupid, lazy and unmotivated too much giggly twig makes you.

I then aquired a taste for Mr. H. Upmann's finest. I have developed a little ritual of celebrating the major moments of my life with a fine cigar and half a tumbler of Scotch. Nothing else seems to go quite as well in my moments of quiet celebration and contemplation.
 
Bloody wonderful thread, thanks. Always a pleasant surprise to find one is not after all, alone. #applause
 
Fellow Smokers, I am impelled to rouse this dormant thread for I am in sore need of consolation and feel certain you will at least condole with me when you hear my sad tale.


I currently find myself in the United States of America, in the Lone Star State, where I have been sojourning with junior relatives this past month.

By tea time this afternoon (Central Time) it was clear that my supply of SA-sourced Camel Plain cigarettes was close to exhaustion. Being quick-witted and graced with a scientific mind (as recounted above) I quickly realised that were my current supply of tebaccy to become depleted I would be unable to engage in that pleasant pastime to which this thread is dedicated. Filled with resolve I determined then and there to launch an expedition to the nearest supplies station in order to secure more stock of my fave blend of the best Virginia, Samsun and Izmir burley. To this end I borrowed my relative's automobile and, armed with a fully loaded Visa, motored to an establishment styled Tobacco Junction some three thousand yards north east, up the Troup highway.

It was there, shortly after I entered that establishment, that I was ambushed by bandits in what can only be called a daylight robbery, just after 4 PM.

The fiends, dear Fellow Smokers, were not the usual Wild West crooks with brown horses and even browner neckerchiefs (I have yet to encounter those types west of the Mississippi). Rather, the brigands who lightened my wallet had the outward appearance of innocuous storekeepers and businessfolk, and I have learned that one of them is called "Arjay" Reynolds. Subsequent enquiry amongst the natives reveals that the brigand-in-chief who profits most from this dastardly deed is known as Uncle Sam.

In one fell swipe of my Visa I was relieved of eighty six dollars and ninety cents in native currency in exchange for a single carton of 200 Camel Plain cigarettes.

$86.90 for a fricking carton of Camel Plains!!!!!!

So fast was this dastardly deed committed that I did not at first realise it's true extent. It's only when you translate the local Texan currency into our Real Rand that the magnitude of the crime becomes evident.

That's nearly blerry R1400!!!!!! Excluding VAT. One hundred and forty Rand per pack!!!!

For the next few weeks it'll be costing me R6.80+ per cigarette. This is painful. But not so painful as to cause me to abandon my smoking career, you will be relieved to hear.
 
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