Yankee Zipper

If I ever run into Gideon Sundback, I’m going to kick him square in the clasp locker.

Fortunately for him, Sundback died nearly 70 years ago, so the possibility of my Florsheim having a violent connection with his unmentionables is, at best, remote.

But I still don’t like the guy.

A Swedish immigrant, Sundback is credited with developing the zipper, improving upon the old clasp locker and earning himself a place in the National Inventors Hall of Fame.

I had never heard of him, even though I use zippers on a daily basis, and up until recently I would’ve had the utmost respect for him.

Imagine all the buttoning we’d have to do if he hadn’t improved the old time fastener and shaped it into the amazing device that seals up our coats and keeps our privates private.

However, I’ve been having a run of bad luck with the zippers in my life lately and I’m starting to wonder if great Gideon's ghost is haunting me.

Two of my coats and one of my sweaters have been giving me zipper-related agita lately and I’m starting to take it personally.

One of the coats is my main winter armor, the one I reach for when the temperature nosedives and I start to dream of a sunny islands, warm breezes, and scantily clad women—but only in the most respectful way, of course.

I’d accidentally broken the zipper on the coat a few years ago when it got stuck. Replacing it cost me enough, but I thought, what the hell, money’s no object when the wind chill kicks in.

But now this relatively new zipper also decided go all Gideon on me, and, once again, I accidentally took out a few of the teeth.

Thankfully, it’s still working—for the moment, anyway--but only if I stand stock still and straight at attention like a West Point cadet and seal up the coat at the exact perfect speed.

Otherwise the zipper goes right up to my chin without closing the coat. The zipper ain’t got the zip, which is just perfect on those dreadful days when it’s so cold the pigeons are freezing in midair.

Fasten-ating Rhythm

Back when I was a child, the choked-up zipper was a fashion nightmare. And whenever it happened, I’d stare at the obnoxiously open coat in shock, completely incapable of knowing that to do next.

It’s a little better now, but I’ve been forced to call upon my buddy, St. Jerome, the patron saint of anger management, to keep me from pulling my parka apart.

I have a lighter jacket that I like to wear when it’s rainy or cold, but not quite Frostbite Falls weather. It looks like stylish, too, and it would look even better if I could close the goddamn zipper.

But, no, this bugger is giving me fastening fits as well. Only in this case, the zipper is completely jammed and refuses to move.

Luckily, I haven’t had a need for it, given the seriously sucky weather we’ve been having around here, and I’ve hung the guilty garment in a place of disgrace in my closet, where I hope it will examine its shameful behavior.

And then last week I was looking for something to wear to the office and I came across this nice, navy blue sweater that I hardly ever wear.

It looks nice and it’s warm as hell.

Perfect, I thought, as I slipped it on and began to zip it up. And that’s when it went into choke mood.

I’ve got a ferry to catch, you putz, I snarled, you zip or I’ll rip.

But the lifeless object refused to cooperate and I had to rapidly rethink my wardrobe choice or miss the boat.

Now, I’ll admit that it’s possible that this is all coincidence and that I’m not haunted by the spirit of a long-dead Swedish inventor.

But just to be safe, I want to tell Gideon that I’m sorry for whatever the hell I did and I’m asking to please ease up on the zipper malfunctions—or I’m going to go out and buy a Velcro suit.