S&R is a discount department store in Kingston, the city in which Crazy Go Nuts University is situated. It was a popular place with students, and for the guys in my house — 103 Clergy Street West — it was the go-to place for cheap hats.
For a little while, hat collecting became a hobby of ours. My housemates Greg Popoff, Mark Bereczky and I were particularly fond of our fake fur hats with furry ear flaps and a high dome; we looked like two members of the Politburo and the North Korean Ambassador in them. I was also partial to a black felt fedora that I’d purchased at S&R and had taken to wearing it fairly often in the beginning of second year.
It was the fall of 1988. Although I was in second year, I was in a first-year chemistry course. I am the opposite of the rest of my family; where they seem to like chemistry and biology, my strengths were in physics and math. I was disinterested in biology, but I absolutely loathed chemistry. “Damned electron shuffling, that’s all chemistry really is,” I used to say.
“You take notes,” said Cathy, my chemistry lab partner, “your handwriting’s neater than mine.”
“Suits me fine,” I said. “I’m in Electrical. As far as I’m concerned, chemistry’s for making batteries and beer.”
Cathy was my partner-in-chemistry in a couple of senses; she was a lab partner and a drinking buddy. She probably heard me complain more about E. (the girl from this story, the one who said that the three kinds of men in this world were “scum, art fags and Joey”) than anyone else. She also helped judge the entries in the “Win a date with Joey deVilla” contest in the paper later that year.
Cathy ignited the bunsen burner as I started writing the introduction to the lab assignment.
“Joey…”
“Hang on, Cathode,” I said, calling her by my nickname for her, “I just have to finish the intro.”
“Joooo-ey…” she said, her voice filled with worry.
“What?” I said, turning my head. As I turned, an orange and yellow burst of colour came into my view. It took me another moment to register what was going on: I was still wearing my fedora, and somehow it had caught on fire. I must’ve been leaning too close to the bunsen burner.
“Oh, shit!” I said, for two reasons: the obvious one as well as the fact that Paul, our lab T.A., was about to enter the lab. Luckily, he was deep in conversation with another T.A., so he hadn’t yet noticed that some idiot had just set himself alight.
Luckily, the lab was on the first floor and our station was right by an open window. I grabbed my fedora by the rear brim and pitched it out the window into a nearby snowbank.
Paul walked towards our station. I didn’t know if he’d seen the incident or not, so I opted to put on my most guile-free expression and act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“Hey, Paul,” I said. “What’s up?”
He sniffed the air for a moment and then looked out the window.
“Could you explain what that is?” he asked, pointing to the smoldering hat outside.
“Oh, that. It’s…it’s…well, I’d classify it as some kind of exothermic reaction.”
“Very rapid oxidation,” added Cathy helpfully.
“I can see why you partnered with him,” said Paul to Cathy as he walked away. “He’s an idiot chemist, but a good note-taker.”
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*sigh*
One of these days, I'm going to lose count of the number of times I've burned something attached to me.
When a group of pyromaniacs get together, we start to catalog interesting ways we've managed to burn or catch afire people or things.
The obnoxious part is when I manage to burn my bangs often enough that I forget to get a haircut (if I can't see my bangs, it means that the hair's not long enough yet) and then end up with a mullet.
S&R is still - to this day - my favourite cheap-ass store. Forget Walmart or Zellers (second favourite); how can you go wrong at a department store that still has someone operating the elevator?!
However, i do prefer Kingston in the summer when all the Queen's students return home to Vancouver/Toronto, and i get my town back.
Man, I'm with you. Chem labs at Gordon were teh sux0rs. Phase Diagrams? What? Who?
I must confess, 15 years later, I can't remember a single experiment from our chem labs. Why couldn't we have had progressive teachers who gave us wicked cool experiments with *intentional* pyrotechnics, or, I dunno...synthetic pheromones to take with us to Psych 101 (the only class I ever took as part of AppSci EE where women outnumbered guys by at least a 3:1 ratio).
The only things that I remember from Chem class in Gordon hall are:
a) the prof popping a piece of dry ice in his mouth and blowing smoke out his nose.
b) the standard "introduce fire to this container of lycapodium" demonstration.
Other than that, it was just lots and lots of titrations. Snore.
-- Lara
Man, I don't remember the dry ice gag at all. Just want to make it clear that I know that we would've only done pheromones if I'd taken *organic* chemistry, which certainly wasn't part of this EE Geek Options curricula.
I had the first year timetable from hell. Mechanical drawing on *FRIDAY AFTERNOON!!!*. So, I'd spend as little time at the drafting tables as I could, knowing that Ritual had started *right* across the street. [sigh].
Ah. Good times.....good times.
We had geology on friday afternoons. We'd get liquored up at Ritual and then stagger over to Ellis to watch movies on volcanoes.
Oh, how the memories come flooding back.
-- Lara