GELATINOUS RUBBER SUBSTANCES

There was a young lady in the elevator today holding a wrist-rest for use with a computer keyboard with some distaste.

When she noticed me looking at her and her object, she mumbled “the smell of cat-pee was already here, the fart was someone else, but the chemical odour is from this thing, and it’s making me cough…. So I’m returning it”

Fair enough.

I actually hadn’t noticed a thing.

Well, other than the mild whiff of cat-pee.

But I'll gladly accept random apologies from strangers.


It's the least I can do.



THE SPIRIT OF SCIENTIFIC INQUIRY

Years ago, as an experiment, I took apart a keyboard wrist-rest that someone had put in the discard pile, just to see what was inside. Please imagine something much like a banana slug in blueish transparent goo that cohered amazingly.
For several hours the design department and I played with it that afternoon. Flicking it at flying objects, so it would stretch out and snap back. Tossing it against the ceiling and waiting for it to fall off.
Fwacking it at the wall, then giving it a wobble so it flooped away in an arc.
It was self-referential enough that it did not pick up much lint or dust, and when we rinsed it, it returned to its shiny slick loveable state, pristine and slug-like.
Outer space monster slug.

Quite the nastiest thing any of the ladies around the office had ever seen.
We boys loved it.
Neat-o!

Final experiment: our quality control engineer goes down to the pavement in front of the building. When he's secured the drop zone, three floors below, we tossed it.
The results were astounding.

Like an angry Jack-in-the-box, the humourless proprietor of the health-food store came busting out of his business screaming that we were thugs, vandals, delinquents, and he was calling the cops and building management how dare we.
How... Freaking... DARE... We?!?
Asking him to kindly calm down, no harm done, no pedestrians hurt, no customers disconcerted, simply sent him into a jumping up and foaming frenzy. A very tense man.
Must have been all that good stuff he sold.
He probably spent hours each day thoughtfully swallowing pill after pill waiting for immortality to hit.
Then just as much time regretting eating all those things.
While his very healthy digestive system rebelled.

For the next several weeks, whenever we passed his open doorway, we would loudly hiss "boing" into the shop.  He'd glare back. Once or twice he made as if to throw something.
Boing.
Dude, chill out!

Boing.
Boing.
Boing.


It didn't actually go 'boing' when it hit the cement.
Sort of flattened to cover an entire square yard, then alien-like reconstituted itself.

Jelly-goo outer space slugs and health-freak kibble.
That's why people become scientists.
Well, boys at least.

Boing.

I have no idea why one of the elevators reeked of cat pee.
It's a scientific mystery.


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