This is a verbatim email I sent out at work:
I'm sure by now most of you have noticed the huge new freezer standing in staging. I've mounted a warning sign on there at Safety's request which gives some common sense advice about what the freezer is and what it should not be used for:
--The freezer operates around -85 degrees Celsius. That means you do not want to go picking things up inside it with your bare hands, licking the inside frame, or taking naps in there to cool off in the summer.
-- I have special cryo gloves in my office (for now) that are to be used for moving material from this freezer. If we like these, I'll likely order a few more. If we don't care for them, we'll look at other options.
--Taking something from room temp to the freezer temp is thermally comparable to taking a pot of boiling water and setting it on a block of ice. That sort of treatment is very bad for glassware and many other common items. Don't just go putting things in there to see how cold they can get.
Again, this should all be pretty common sense. I'd be more than happy to answer any other questions or give details about its use, esp. when we have it plugged in and cooling.
Thanks!
Monday, March 26, 2007
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Brown Sugar
Earlier this week, we were making a product in the far side of my building that smells exactly like pancakes. You may think I’m kidding, or exaggerating, but I’m not. My company has a flavors and fragrances division. We make the artificial fragrance of pancakes and store it in drums.
Still, you may think this is a trivial point. But have you ever read the ingredients list of some of your favorite products? For example, when you buy your favorite pancake mix, do you ever see “Artificial flavors” as the last item in the ingredients list and think to yourself, “Oh! This box probably contains about 40% artificial pancake flavors!” You probably don’t because 40% is WAY too high. Think more along the lines of 0.1%. That’d be closer.
That said, let’s return to what we were making. A drum (55 gallons) of the pure pancake essence. It’s strong. In fact, it’s so strong, that if you were to go back there and pry the bung off the drum with a tool, the very act of having stood there and done that – not touching any of it or pouring any of it out – would make you as a person smell like pancakes for a week. I know this because some of our operators have this problem. The joke is that they do really well hitting on the chubby chicks.
The stuff is very strong and has many uses. For example, you could add some to a muffin and have the muffin taste like syrupy pancakes. Or you could apply some to waffles and have them taste exceptionally rich. Or you could spray some on a filet mignon and have a steak that tastes and smells just like pancakes. It’s a wonderful world.
The point is, half my building smelled like pancakes.
Late last week, in an unrelated story, my company’s packaging building (across from my office) blew up. At least, a wing of the building across the shipping and receiving path blew up. There was an accident where a compound used to make rubber exploded in a recently filled drum.
No one was hurt, but it was still a really big deal. We don’t like buildings exploding. It’s bad for many reasons.
It’s also kind of funny, when no one gets hurt. For example, I just pointed out (above) that the compound that blew up is used to make rubber. It makes rubber when it polymerizes – which, coincidentally, appears to be exactly what was going on in that drum when it exploded. When the drum exploded, the polymerizing liquid splashed all over everything in there. And hardened.
The joke there is that the room (what’s left of it) is wearing the biggest condom ever. Because it is. Chemistry is funny.
Anyway, this chemical does not smell like pancakes. As you might guess, exploded rubber compound smells an awful lot like a gigantic tire fire. My building, on the side that was not making pancakes, had the privilege to dispose of the waste material that did not explode. During that process, someone spilled some, which made the other half of my building smell like a tire yard.
Anyway, recently, we had a chemist from another building come into the admin area (where my office is) and cheerfully announce, “It smells like brown sugar back there!” He had spent a lot of time in the pancake area. The principle scientist for my building (who had been in the tire yard area) replied, “If I were you, I’d change brands.” [Author's note: I have received complaints about this paragraph not being clear or funny. The trouble is, since I'm using the exact quotes of people who were confusing each other, that's the point. The joke here is that the Principle Scientist thought that the Chemist thought that a tire fire smelled like the brown sugar he had in his house.]
I quietly spent the next half hour laughing to myself in my office.
This is why I love that people can’t efficiently communicate. It makes the world a wonderful and interesting place!
Still, you may think this is a trivial point. But have you ever read the ingredients list of some of your favorite products? For example, when you buy your favorite pancake mix, do you ever see “Artificial flavors” as the last item in the ingredients list and think to yourself, “Oh! This box probably contains about 40% artificial pancake flavors!” You probably don’t because 40% is WAY too high. Think more along the lines of 0.1%. That’d be closer.
That said, let’s return to what we were making. A drum (55 gallons) of the pure pancake essence. It’s strong. In fact, it’s so strong, that if you were to go back there and pry the bung off the drum with a tool, the very act of having stood there and done that – not touching any of it or pouring any of it out – would make you as a person smell like pancakes for a week. I know this because some of our operators have this problem. The joke is that they do really well hitting on the chubby chicks.
The stuff is very strong and has many uses. For example, you could add some to a muffin and have the muffin taste like syrupy pancakes. Or you could apply some to waffles and have them taste exceptionally rich. Or you could spray some on a filet mignon and have a steak that tastes and smells just like pancakes. It’s a wonderful world.
The point is, half my building smelled like pancakes.
Late last week, in an unrelated story, my company’s packaging building (across from my office) blew up. At least, a wing of the building across the shipping and receiving path blew up. There was an accident where a compound used to make rubber exploded in a recently filled drum.
No one was hurt, but it was still a really big deal. We don’t like buildings exploding. It’s bad for many reasons.
It’s also kind of funny, when no one gets hurt. For example, I just pointed out (above) that the compound that blew up is used to make rubber. It makes rubber when it polymerizes – which, coincidentally, appears to be exactly what was going on in that drum when it exploded. When the drum exploded, the polymerizing liquid splashed all over everything in there. And hardened.
The joke there is that the room (what’s left of it) is wearing the biggest condom ever. Because it is. Chemistry is funny.
Anyway, this chemical does not smell like pancakes. As you might guess, exploded rubber compound smells an awful lot like a gigantic tire fire. My building, on the side that was not making pancakes, had the privilege to dispose of the waste material that did not explode. During that process, someone spilled some, which made the other half of my building smell like a tire yard.
Anyway, recently, we had a chemist from another building come into the admin area (where my office is) and cheerfully announce, “It smells like brown sugar back there!” He had spent a lot of time in the pancake area. The principle scientist for my building (who had been in the tire yard area) replied, “If I were you, I’d change brands.” [Author's note: I have received complaints about this paragraph not being clear or funny. The trouble is, since I'm using the exact quotes of people who were confusing each other, that's the point. The joke here is that the Principle Scientist thought that the Chemist thought that a tire fire smelled like the brown sugar he had in his house.]
I quietly spent the next half hour laughing to myself in my office.
This is why I love that people can’t efficiently communicate. It makes the world a wonderful and interesting place!
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Apathy
People complain that I am too detached. Some people argue that it proves that I’m uncaring. Other people claim it proves I’m an ass. Still others insist that it’s just not right.
On my end, I wonder why those people think it’s fun and engaging to read so much into it. Especially when the alternative is so unpleasant. Take, for example, what I detachedly avoided while driving this weekend.
I was heading north from the airport on a major highway. Traffic was very light, but cars were very much present. The average speed on the four-lane stretch I was driving was about 5 miles per hour above the speed limit, or 70 mph.
I was in the second lane from the highway divider. Ahead of me, a white station wagon was in the speed (first) lane. Next to him, a red car was in my lane, matching pace. In the fourth lane, a grayish van was driving. All three of these cars were moving at about the same speed. The white car was roughly three car-lengths ahead of me. The red car was maybe three and a half lengths ahead. The van was about two lengths. Behind me, two cars trailed at five or so car lengths.
With the stage thus set, I noticed that the guy in the white car seemed to be searching for something in his passenger seat. Either that or he was pretending to give head to a friend who was not there. In either event, his attention was clearly not on the road as indicated by all the movement that I could see (even in the dim street light illumination).
Sure enough, a few seconds later, his car took a strong swerve to the right, towards the red car still next to him. He recovered, but still, I thought to myself something along the lines of, “I do not care to have any part of this,” and took my foot completely off the accelerator.
A second later, his car took a violent swerve to the left, towards the divider. The driver looked up, and apparently swerved a hard right. Directly into the red car beside him. There was a loud crunch.
Still slowing from before the crash even began, I casually checked my rearview and switched into the third lane. The white car had gone into a full spin out since the crash, and was in the process of making two complete turns about two car lengths ahead of me. That is, through the lane where I had recently been driving. A few seconds later, he would come to rest in the divider with a loud crunch. Meanwhile, the red car had swerved hard to the right since the crash, and was again ahead of me, very shaky.
I glided past the white car as a hail of glass shards bounced off my windshield. I changed back to my original lane just as the gray van – apparently scared out of its wits – crashed into the rightmost divider for no particular reason. A few seconds later, the red car more subtly bounced into it and came to a stop. Behind the pile up, the two cars that had been behind us screeched to awkward halts, but did not directly collide with anything that I noticed.
I resumed acceleration and was back up to 65 mph in about three seconds. I had caught a glimpse of the impacted red car as I drove past. The driver’s side door was crushed in. I decided that no intelligent police officer could possibly conclude that the red car was the source of the original problem. As a result, I did not feel inclined to stick around to play witness in the freezing cold. And frankly, I suspect that the grey van would be relieved I did not hang around to tell anyone that I was of the opinion that it had crashed through no fault but its own.
Traffic behind me came to a complete stop. Of the original six cars in the crash site, I was the one directly in the middle. I not only casually emerged from it on the other side – alone – but I did so with only some glass shards on my wiper blades to complain about. Everyone else was clearly terrified, hurt, damaged, or worse.
I am strongly of the opinion that had I been prone to emotional reactions, I would have ended Sunday evening as yet another car in that pile. Had I not moved out of the way on two occasions, I would have been in a spot fated for violent impact. Despite that, I strongly suspect that most people reading this will respond with a horrified, “How could you not be worried about all those hurt people?!” (Answer: “Because I’m sure one of the people that got trapped behind them when the road became blocked was motivated enough to call for help. And I’ll bet they did it a full minute before I would have, had I stopped a safe distance away and made the trek back.”)
So, if you must, come away from this story thinking that I’m an uncaring ass who just isn’t right. I’ll continue to ignore that opinion and focus on productive things. After all, it clearly takes more than a major accident and societal fury that I survived to slow me down.
On my end, I wonder why those people think it’s fun and engaging to read so much into it. Especially when the alternative is so unpleasant. Take, for example, what I detachedly avoided while driving this weekend.
I was heading north from the airport on a major highway. Traffic was very light, but cars were very much present. The average speed on the four-lane stretch I was driving was about 5 miles per hour above the speed limit, or 70 mph.
I was in the second lane from the highway divider. Ahead of me, a white station wagon was in the speed (first) lane. Next to him, a red car was in my lane, matching pace. In the fourth lane, a grayish van was driving. All three of these cars were moving at about the same speed. The white car was roughly three car-lengths ahead of me. The red car was maybe three and a half lengths ahead. The van was about two lengths. Behind me, two cars trailed at five or so car lengths.
With the stage thus set, I noticed that the guy in the white car seemed to be searching for something in his passenger seat. Either that or he was pretending to give head to a friend who was not there. In either event, his attention was clearly not on the road as indicated by all the movement that I could see (even in the dim street light illumination).
Sure enough, a few seconds later, his car took a strong swerve to the right, towards the red car still next to him. He recovered, but still, I thought to myself something along the lines of, “I do not care to have any part of this,” and took my foot completely off the accelerator.
A second later, his car took a violent swerve to the left, towards the divider. The driver looked up, and apparently swerved a hard right. Directly into the red car beside him. There was a loud crunch.
Still slowing from before the crash even began, I casually checked my rearview and switched into the third lane. The white car had gone into a full spin out since the crash, and was in the process of making two complete turns about two car lengths ahead of me. That is, through the lane where I had recently been driving. A few seconds later, he would come to rest in the divider with a loud crunch. Meanwhile, the red car had swerved hard to the right since the crash, and was again ahead of me, very shaky.
I glided past the white car as a hail of glass shards bounced off my windshield. I changed back to my original lane just as the gray van – apparently scared out of its wits – crashed into the rightmost divider for no particular reason. A few seconds later, the red car more subtly bounced into it and came to a stop. Behind the pile up, the two cars that had been behind us screeched to awkward halts, but did not directly collide with anything that I noticed.
I resumed acceleration and was back up to 65 mph in about three seconds. I had caught a glimpse of the impacted red car as I drove past. The driver’s side door was crushed in. I decided that no intelligent police officer could possibly conclude that the red car was the source of the original problem. As a result, I did not feel inclined to stick around to play witness in the freezing cold. And frankly, I suspect that the grey van would be relieved I did not hang around to tell anyone that I was of the opinion that it had crashed through no fault but its own.
Traffic behind me came to a complete stop. Of the original six cars in the crash site, I was the one directly in the middle. I not only casually emerged from it on the other side – alone – but I did so with only some glass shards on my wiper blades to complain about. Everyone else was clearly terrified, hurt, damaged, or worse.
I am strongly of the opinion that had I been prone to emotional reactions, I would have ended Sunday evening as yet another car in that pile. Had I not moved out of the way on two occasions, I would have been in a spot fated for violent impact. Despite that, I strongly suspect that most people reading this will respond with a horrified, “How could you not be worried about all those hurt people?!” (Answer: “Because I’m sure one of the people that got trapped behind them when the road became blocked was motivated enough to call for help. And I’ll bet they did it a full minute before I would have, had I stopped a safe distance away and made the trek back.”)
So, if you must, come away from this story thinking that I’m an uncaring ass who just isn’t right. I’ll continue to ignore that opinion and focus on productive things. After all, it clearly takes more than a major accident and societal fury that I survived to slow me down.
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