I prepared meticulously for my final outprocessing appointment at the Central Issue Facility (CIF), just like I had at other points when I transitioned between assignment locations. But this one was a little different – it was the last one, as I turned in the remaining remnants of my issue equipment and retired.
I didn’t have a lot left, to be honest. What I did have had been carefully documented and accounted, and I confirmed each item on the list while ensuring that it was meticulously cleaned and prepared for turn in. I was ready.
Or so I thought.
Late on a Friday afternoon, I reported for my appointment and proceeded to lay out my equipment. Item-by-item, the proverbial “little old lady in tennis shoes” inspected and documented my gear. Then – just as I thought we were finished – she returned with an item, a box marked “Goggles, Sand, Wind and Dust” that had sat unopened in a footlocker since 1990. “There’s a problem. These aren’t the right goggles.”
Abandon all Hope
From my earliest days in uniform, I developed a cautious respect for the CIF. Whether you were the lowest-ranking private on an installation or the commanding general, the CIF had the final say on whether to accept your gear for turn-in, send you back for corrections, or charge you for loss or damage. It was not uncommon to drive by the CIF and see people re-cleaning equipment outside the facility or to find troops buying new gear at the Military Clothing Sales store in the Post Exchange – equipment that they would just turn over to CIF to avoid the hassle.
At some point in the early 1990s – as the television series Star Trek: Deep Space 9 took to the airwaves – people began to derisively refer to the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition when talking about their local CIF. The Ferengi, an alien race of somewhat unscrupulous business-minded beings that maintained a prominent role in the series, followed a sacred set of precepts that governed their society. The rules were written in such a way that the Ferengi always came out ahead in every transaction.
In other words, what most of us felt after an appointment with their local CIF.
The Rules
Walking away after a successful CIF appointment carries a sense of relief that compares to feeling the plane lift off from the departure airfield after a long deployment. No matter what happened before, it’s over an you can move on. For a brief, fleeting moment, the wave of elation that sweeps over you carries with it the any negativity you might have experienced.
But the memories persist, as do the inevitable comparisons to the Ferengi. The Rules of Acquisition were introduced in “The Nagus,” the eleventh episode of the first season of Deep Space 9. As intergalactic capitalists, it only made sense for the Ferengi to be guided by a set of fiscal principles, however unprincipled they might seem. There are official and unofficial rules, canon and non-canon rules, and even a few unwritten rules.
While there are far too many rules to list, some stand out as appropriate for anyone who has endured the strain of a particularly contentious experience at their local CIF. For example, that time you tried to turn in a new canteen you’d just purchased at Clothing Sales, and they rejected it, telling you that it needed to be cleaned. If you know, you know.
1. If you break it, I’ll charge you for it.
This is fundamental truth of the CIF. Break it (or damage it) and you’re paying. And they define what that means.
2. Don’t tell customers more than they need to know.
No one will ever tell you that .
3. Never confuse wisdom with luck.
No matter how prepared you are, nothing replaces the luck of the draw. Catch CIF when it’s a good day and your luck will increase tenfold.
4. It never hurts to suck up to the boss.
Leave your rank at the door. Be polite, be pleasant. You don’t know what kind of a day they’ve had, so don’t make it worse.
5. No good deed ever goes unpunished.
There were days when I felt like the amount of preparation I did for a CIF turn-in had less of an impact on the success of the transaction than the attitudes of the troops who had earlier appointments.
6. If that’s what’s written, then that’s what’s written.
The rules of property accountability are all but carved in stone. A CIF appointment is not a negotiation. You don’t want to irritate them any more than they already are.
7. War is good for business.
During wartime, a lot more gear is pushed out of the CIF. When you return, they want it back, or you’ll pay. Wartime rules of accountability apply, but only if you understand them. And most don’t.
8. A deal is a deal.
If CIF accepts your equipment, don’t spend a lot of time engaging in small talk. Take the deal and get out.
9. Satisfaction is not guaranteed.
Satisfaction is defined as walking away without owing money. Beyond that, it’s a sliding scale of misery.
10. When no appropriate rule applies, make one up.
This one speaks for itself. Unless you have an encyclopedic memory of property accountability policies, you are at the mercy of the person on the other side of the counter.
As I stood at the counter in disbelief, I pointed out that not only were the goggles in their original box, they were still sealed in the plastic bag in which they were packed. I’d never opened them. Ever. “Doesn’t matter. They’re the wrong goggles.”
“Fine,” I said. “How much will they cost me?” She pulled out a calculator that was probably issued during the Carter administration and determined their value, less 25 years of depreciation. “$127.50.”
I stared back, still in disbelief. “You gotta be sh*tin’ me. The same goggles cost $5 at Home Depot. I could have just turned in a set of those.”
“Yeah, but they’d still be the wrong goggles.” Then she smiled at me with teeth that could have easily come from a Ferengi. “Since you’re retiring, you’ll need a statement of charges stamped by the Finance office. But they’re closed, so you’ll have to make an appointment with them on Monday, then make another appointment with me, and come back after the holidays, since we’ll be closed for the next two weeks.”
Then she laughed and left me standing at the counter with the most expensive pair of goggles I’d ever seen.
