In the late 1970s, I am a junior taking chemistry in high school. This is basic chemistry, essentially giving students the opportunity to get familiar with the methods and procedures they’ll need to use when taking chemistry in college. Because the school is located in a small town, it is on the small side, as well. This means that chemistry, biology, and other science classes share the same modest lab space.

We are using Bunsen burners to heat up small coils of magnesium which are placed in the bottom of little ceramic crucibles. The experiment is supposed to be demonstrating how heating the coiled metal will change the metal’s shape as it expands. Really basic stuff.

Before we get started, my lab partner and I notice some sort of off-white gunk baked into the bottom of the crucible. The gunk won’t rinse out, so I ask the teacher for a new crucible. The teacher takes a look at it and tells us to just use the crucible as-is.

Teacher: “It’s not going to affect the experiment.”

Me: “Are you sure? We don’t even know what this stuff is.”

Teacher: “I’m sure. Get started. You guys are way behind everyone else.”

So, we drop the coiled strip of magnesium into the bottom of the crucible and place it in the stand over the burner. We light it up and take turns observing the metal as it heats. We both speculate about the nature of the baked-on gunk while we wait for the coil to start changing shape from the heat.

I have just slid safety goggles over my eyes and leaned forward to look into the crucible when there is a loud BANG, followed by a streak of red flying past my ear and bits of shattered crucible flying all over the lab bench, floor, and me. My lab partner shuts off the burner while I make sure I’m not hurt, and then we turn to see what flew past me.

The chemistry teacher is about six feet away, using tongs to pick up something which seems to be melting its way through one of the plastic mats on the floor by another lab bench. There is quite a bit of smoke which reeks of burning plastic, and other students are scrambling to open windows to get rid of the stench.

The teacher drops the burning magnesium into a bucket full of sand kept handy for just that purpose and then comes over to make sure my lab partner and I are okay. Neither of us are hurt, fortunately, although we are both scared and excited the way people get when the danger has passed. The teacher is pretty pale, too.

He checks the lab record book and figures out that the gunk left in the crucible was a chemical leftover from a Chemistry 2 class the previous month.

Teacher: “Okay! Let’s never do that again. What just happened is called a ‘violent exothermic reaction.’ This was not what we were supposed to be learning about today, but everyone now has a better understanding of why lab safety is so important. It also emphasizes the importance of cleaning your lab equipment after each use. Any questions?”

I raise my hand.

Teacher: “Yes, [My Name]?”

Me: “Didn’t you say it wouldn’t affect the experiment?”

Teacher: *Looking pained* “That’s another important lesson: be careful of your assumptions. I assumed no one would have been stupid enough to leave a crucible coated with a known catalyst in the lab supply cage.”

My lab partner and I weren’t penalized for not completing the experiment, and the chemistry teacher called me “Boomer” for the rest of my time at school.

I did not sign up for Chemistry 2 class in my senior year.

My parents can occasionally be a bit overprotective, especially when I am young, but this story is perhaps one of my favorite examples of my mother’s worry-wart tendencies.

I tend to be a bit of a night owl, so one night, I find myself very bored at about two in the morning, and I decide to go grab some fast food to occupy myself, as we don’t exactly live in the most hopping part of the state and there isn’t anything else to do. I grab the family dog, because he’s always happy to go for a car ride at any hour, hop in my car, and go to the nearest chain to grab a burger from the drive-thru.

I get home, my greasy prize in hand, and find my mom waiting for me at the top of the stairs with her hands on her hips.

Mom: “Where were you?!”

Me: “Uh… I went out to get food.”

I hold up the fast food bag.

Mom: “At this hour?! You shouldn’t be out by yourself!”

Me: “I went through the drive-thru. I didn’t even get out of my car. And besides, I had the dog with me.”

Mom: “What if something happened?!”

I just want to eat before the bag of something already barely resembling actual food becomes completely inedible, so I lay out my case.

Me: “Mom. First of all, we live in one of the most white-bread-suburban, low-crime areas possible. Second, I traveled a total of maybe ten miles. Third, I had the dog with me. And fourth, and possibly most relevant of all, I am twenty-four years old.”

After the appropriate pause to consider my input…

Mom: “Well, you still shouldn’t be out so late.”

She went back to her room somewhat sheepishly, and thankfully, my food was still hot.

Related:
Ah, Mothers, Part 9
Ah, Mothers, Part 8
Ah, Mothers, Part 7
Ah, Mothers, Part 6
Ah, Mothers, Part 5

We get some items in our store that look just like lipsticks. I open one, because we’ve never sold makeup, and find that it’s a sewing kit. Right on top is a pincushion with needles sticking up out of it. It even winds up like a lipstick. I think it very dangerous and intend to warn customers if I sell any.

Later, a customer picks one up; she’s got her back to me.

Customer #1: “Oh, look at this, [Customer #2]! Isn’t it so cute?”

Customer #2: “Yes, but what is it?”

Customer #1: *Opening it* “Oh, it’s a little sewing kit, but it’s so cute. I might get one for my granddaughter.” *To me* “Don’t you think this is cute?”

Me: “Yes, it is, but also dangerous because someone could mix it up for a lipstick case.”

She looks at it and starts winding it up to see that the needles now sit about two centimetres above the red pincushion.

Customer: “Oh, my God, you’re right. My daughter would kill me if I gave that to my granddaughter. Thank you.”

Of course, she didn’t buy it.

I am a handyman, and a customer has asked me to do some interior work in a crawlspace. However, since this is a house that is still being built, the power has not been hooked up yet. There is a generator onsite, but due to a few issues, I would have to take the generator up into the crawlspace to make effective use of it.

Me: “I’m sorry, [Client], but I can’t do the work that you are asking.”

Client: “Why not?”

Me: “Because that would require me to take the generator up to the crawlspace with me. It’s not safe.”

Client: “What are you talking about?”

Me: “Well, the generator puts off carbon monoxide, which isn’t safe to breathe, especially in an enclosed space like that.”

Client: “A little carbon monoxide won’t kill you.”

I then had to spend the next ten minutes explaining to the customer why that was wrong. They eventually agreed to put the work off until the electricity was hooked up.

I live in a small house on campus. It is a dorm, but we only have about a dozen rooms. I become good friends with two of the other girls, [Friend #1] and [Friend #2].

My second year, at the “get to know you” meeting, the three of us decide to take one of the freshmen under our wings. Our chosen freshman, who we call “Little Fish” — freshmen are often referred to as fish around here — is a very small girl, not even 100 pounds soaking wet, maybe five-foot-nothing. She is a sweet little thing, she was homeschooled, and while she knows how to do housework and is very well-prepared academically, she is very naive and believes nothing bad could ever happen to her.

One day, we find out she has been walking home alone from her night classes. Being the concerned big sisters we are, we have to stage an intervention. We sit her down in the lobby one day.

Friend #1: “Okay, Little Fish, it has come to our attention that you are walking home at night alone and unarmed.”

Little Fish: “Um, I guess.”

Me: “And are you aware just how dangerous this is?”

Little Fish: “Um, no. I mean, you guys walk around alone all the time. I don’t see why I shouldn’t if you do.”

[Friend #1] and I are both over 100 pounds and at least half a foot taller than Little Fish. [Friend #2] weighs more than all of us combined and is a weightlifter.

Friend #2: “Fish, you are small and portable.”

Little Fish: “No, I’m not.”

Me: “Yes, you are.”

Little Fish: “I’m not.”

[Friend #2] stands up, grabs Little Fish, throws her over her shoulder, sprints down the hall, touches the back door, and then sprints back and drops Little Fish back on the couch.

Friend #2: “See, portable.”

Little Fish: “That’s not fair! I wasn’t prepared for any of you to try and kidnap me. I’d be prepared for a stranger on the street.”

Me: *Standing up slowly* “Okay, Little Fish, I’m going to pick you up now.”

I proceed to grab her by the waist and carry her a few feet while she flails her hands about wildly. She manages to make contact with my face a few times but I don’t even have a bruise the next day. After I set her down again:

Little Fish: “But [Friend #2] could carry both of you off just as easy.”

Friend #1: “Honey, I carry a full-sized umbrella everywhere no matter the weather. It’s not just a style choice; that thing is a weapon and I can use it.”

Me: “And I have pepper spray on my key chain and have been learning aikido for years.”

Friend #2: “Heck, I carry pepper spray and I’m the least likely person in this room to ever need to use it.”

Little Fish: “Oh, but why would anyone want to kidnap me?”

Friend #1: “Because the world is a dark and scary place full of bad people.”

Little Fish: “It is?!”

I started dragging Little Fish to my aikido classes. We also found a friend of a friend who was taking the same night class and got him to walk with her, since his boyfriend’s dorm was in the building next door to ours.