Smoke Bombs by Mike Freeman

Smoke Bombs

By Mike Freeman

One of the best and most versatile devices for young men with partially developed, immature brains to get into trouble with is the smoke bomb. The military AN-M8 smoke grenade is a wonderful choice. The smoke bomb firework is the most feasible. It is possible to fit several of them in a normal jacket pocket. A book of matches is the only requirement for ignition. I am indifferent to smoke color preference.

I begin using smoke bomb fireworks at an early age. They seem harmless. They fill a room with smoke and the smell of burnt sulfur.

My little brother is playing with friends in the garage. Perfect. Light one, throw it in, and enjoy the dazed exodus. Throw two in if you want to make them cough. Have a clubhouse with two exits? No problem. You and your friend throw one in each exit and watch sisters and friends run into each other in the sulfuric confusion.

This simple havoc-causing device becomes incredibly versatile with the simple addition of an unsmoked cigarette. Determine the appropriate location. Light a cigarette. Lay it down. Put the fuse of the smoke bomb close to the filter so that it lights from the cigarette. In a few minutes, smoke begins bellowing, filling all available space.

Traveling on a college water polo team trip, we sit in our hotel room at night overlooking a car-jammed parking lot. One of us goes down with a cigarette and a smoke bomb, laying them on the concrete underneath a car. Light the cigarette and return to the room with the rest of the team. Then wait for the entertainment to start.

In about 5 to 7 minutes, a harried person sprints out of the hotel lobby. They run to their smoking car and frantically look for the source of the smoke.

Our victim goes through two quick mood shifts. First, an immense sigh of relief that their car is not on fire. This is followed by rage. They realize they are the butt of a practical joke. With no suspects in sight, they return to their room, mumbling incoherently. Management receives exasperated complaints. No follow-up is possible since there are no witnesses.

Then our team, hiding in the room, has a choice to make. Do we do it again to the same person's car? Should we do the Maserati? How about we do two cars at opposite ends of the parking lot simultaneously? The entertainment permutations are endless!

We know the game is over when hotel management posts an employee in the parking lot to protect the non-smoking cars.

This behavior escalates over time into scenarios with much more significant outcomes. At 21, I am just descending the soaring peak of Mount Teenstupid. Some people claim I am maturing. I am experiencing a declining number of inspiring smoke bombing ideas. But they still occur.

An irresistible opportunity presents itself on another water polo team trip. My friend Paul organizes a double date for us. We need to leave around 6:30 PM to meet our dates. At 6:25 PM, I am inspired to do something.

Most of our team is meeting in one hotel room, getting ready to go to dinner. I walk into the room, casually say hello to everybody, and go into the bathroom, locking the door. I quickly pull out a smoke bomb and a cigarette and lay them down on the bottom of the bathtub.

I light the cigarette and put the smoke bomb fuse close to the butt. I close the shower curtain so that no one discovers the smoke bomb until it has gone off. Finally, I unlock the door and leave the bathroom and the hotel room.

Paul and I are on our way at 6:32 PM.

Later that night, we return from our date, and immediately, a number of our anxious team members surround us.

"You missed it," one of them says to us.

They tell us there were firetrucks and police cars everywhere. The hotel manager called the fire department, thinking a room was on fire. Later, one of the firemen came out of the hotel room holding a used smoke bomb and showed it to everybody.

Our team coach was running around shouting, "Where is Freeman?"

They have never seen him so mad. Veins are popping out of his forehead. He is spitting at everyone as he yells!

They tell him I left a while ago with Paul to go on a date. We will not return for a few hours. He walks off mumbling to himself.

"Oh yeah," says another teammate, "Your parents are mad at you too!"

This is the fatal flaw in my otherwise perfect plan. I forgot my parents are traveling with the team, with several other team parents to watch our games.

I return to my room. My roommate and I wait for the inevitable visit.

This is the conundrum. My coach and parents suspect I am accountable for this prank. They may even know in their hearts that I am responsible. The challenge is that they can't prove it. I was not there when everything unfolds. This is my only hope to escape the coming wrath.

Our coach bangs on our hotel room door. I answer it. He is very flustered.

"I do not want to ask questions that I do not want answers to," he says.

I act bewildered, as if I do not understand what is being discussed.

"I have told the other team members, if something like this ever happens again," he says, "The person responsible will be off the team for the rest of the season!"

I shake my head in agreement, saying, "Understood. I am sure it will never happen again." I wonder if he understands I am only guaranteeing it will never happen again on a water polo team trip.

He turns and leaves the room. My roommate and I stare at each other in relief and amazement. The storm passes. Another caper is in the books. The water polo tournament goes on.

At breakfast the next day, my parents inquire about the previous night's event featuring firetrucks and police cars.

"Yeah, I heard about it when I returned," I say. They decide not to ask any more questions.

I thought I was very clever at the time of this story. I was only fooling myself. Everybody knew that I did it, but they couldn't prove it. That is a long distance from being innocent, right, or good.

I have not caused any uproars using smoke bombs in a few decades. Maybe I see things clearly now.