Shrunk To A NUB

     In 2006 when I deployed to Iraq I had made the acquaintance of a gentleman in the United States that I called “Battle Buddy Bob.” Battle Buddy Bob and his company send thousands of boxes of goodies a year to Soldiers deployed in theaters of war and they are filled with all sorts of morale boosting items, such as soap, toothpaste, chips, candy, and even humidors filled with expensive cigars.  Upon receiving the call to return to Iraq this year I re-contacted my old Battle Buddy and true to form he sent an initial set of boxes even while the Unit was in the States preparing to deploy and among other things it contained a humidor filled with cigars. 

     SFC Ford loves cigars.  In fact he is the closest thing I have ever met to a cigar connoisseur.  Discovering he liked cigars I turned over the humidor and cigar collection sent by Battle Buddy Bob to SFC Ford’s tender care and discretion in distribution.  As a side note I discovered in Ft. Bliss, Texas while our Unit was doing its training exercise for Iraq while sitting outside my tent one night with SFC Ford while he was smoking a cigar that he and I had actually met each other in Mosul, Iraq in 2007 on a sad day for his Unit (which is when I unfortunately met most Soldiers over there being a hospital Chaplain.) What a small war. Anyway… As soon as SFC Ford arrived in country he was very quickly knighted in ceremony as the President of the Camp Cropper Cigar Club.  This in and of itself is not surprising, I mean while attending one of the smoky meetings of this club SFC Ford was asked why cigars have paper bands on them and without pausing he gave an informative lecture on how Mary Queen of Scotts loved cigars but as royalty would not let her hand touch tobacco. Since she was uncomfortable using only one glove to handle the cigar, her advisors wrapped a small band of paper around it so she could grasp the cigar bare fingered without sullying her royal digits.  I say that to say, he is Cigar Club President worthy.  What was surprising to me is that SFC Ford has told me he wants to see about having me knighted as the Vice- President of the Camp Cropper Cigar Club.  (I think it’s because I’ve pledged to be a supplier of Cigars through the generosity of Battle Buddy Bob, not because I know anything about cigars, but hey Vice President sounds pretty cool, and no Vice President ever gets too much media attention unless they shoot someone on a hunting trip which is not my present plan.)

      Last night I was headed back to my room after a rigorous workout and a hasty dinner when I noticed a gathering of said Cigar Club around a community table outside and I decided to walk over and join them.  SFC Ford was regaling the crowd with several cigar related adventures from previous deployments (the man truly is the most interesting man in the world and will have his own commercials one day).  When he saw me his face lit up like his bright cigar and he asked “Chaplain! What kind of Cigar would you like?” As a potential candidate for Vice Presidency I didn’t want to say “I have no idea what brands of cigars exist” so instead I diplomatically asked “What kinds do you have?” He rattled off several to the “Ooos” and “Ahhs” of the listening group.  After he had listed the Baskin Robbins 31 flavors and all eyes turned expectantly to me I was in no better shape than I was before afraid that I was at a fancy French restaurant trying to impress my French friends by ordering from a French Menu and not knowing what the waiter had just spouted off as choices.  So I answered as smoothly as possible, “Why doesn’t the President let me try his favorite?” All smiles and nods from the group for a decision well made.  I’m a shoo in for the Office.  Proof that idiots sometimes get hired to political positions I suppose.

     You see Cigars have not only different names, but different levels of strength, or death-like effect producing potency in Non/Very Rarely Smoking individuals such as myself, and I had unwisely just asked a smoking expert who had spent years building up an immunity to iocane powder to give me his favorite dosage of the stuff.  He reached into his treasure box and gingerly lifted with two tenderly cradling  hands his cigar of choice.  I am certain a light emanated from the humidor as he did so and an un-seen cigar choir began singing as he reverently handed me his version of the Holy Grail.  “This… is a NUB Chaplain.”  He waited expectantly so I quickly changed my face to a look of awe, which I assumed to be appropriate for the situation.  For the sake of the other less informed members of the Cigar Club he explained the NUB (I listened in a non-interested manner as though this was common knowledge).  He said in Cigar shops people will smoke their cigars so that the Queen of Scotts Cigar Band Label can be seen by all.  If I am smoking a “K-Mart” equivalent Banded cigar I shall be shunned while if I am smoking a “Rolex” Equivalent Banded cigar people will gravitate towards me just for the privilege of getting cancer in my presence.  He said with a NUB, everyone would be looking at me as though King Arthur had returned.  All eyes turned back to me now, wide as though I was King Arthur suddenly made manifest, after all it was I who held aloft the Excalibur of cigars… the fabled NUB.

     In order to light said Cigar SFC Ford lit a long match and I had to draw vigorously several times to make sure the flame took.  It was then I had realized my fatal mistake.  I had just drawn into my mouth Riot Control Strength C.S. Gas and had to look at my adoring fans (or at least the cigars adoring fans) and let out a convincing “Ahhh.” I wanted to cough and scream out “AHHH SH<<<!!!!” run into the barracks and inhale the fire extinguisher which I’m sure would have been an improvement to my lungs.  However as this would not have been appropriate for a potential Vice President of the Cigar Club (let alone for a Chaplain) I smiled and wheezed slowly out “Ahhh” and left the rest hanging in the air like a dangling modifier for my upcoming nightmares.  The next hour saw us slowly drawing down the cigars length.  It was taking as long as the Troop draw down in Iraq.  The Club policy is no one leaves the table until everyone has finished their cigars.  SFC Ford announced to 1LT Acred as she started to leave for the bathroom 30 minutes in that “I know you’re not leaving yet, Chaplain and I still have cigars left.” I knew then I was doomed to my fate.  I made witty banter while the world began to spin. Casually wiped away beads of sweat in the 30 degree winter air, and thanked the Lord for the cover of night so that my greenish pallor could be hidden. 

     Finally we excused ourselves and I stumbled gracefully to my room turned off the lights, collapsed on my bed and held on with two hands so I didn’t fall off the spinning world.  At two O’Clock in the morning I finally woke up with the taste of NUB fresh on my breath and the realization that I was still fully clothed…and an idiot.  I could almost hear God smile and say “Want another one son?”