Fond Memories of a Mad Scientist

Today, on a very special episode of The Sartorial Skeptic, we will take a look back at the fond memories I had during my laboratory rotation in the Evanston campus of Northwestern University, as it will come to an end this week.

Pictured above: NOT Trash.

This is a pile of “NOT Trash” outside my lab. It seems odd to label something in the negative, perhaps reflecting upon the philosophical struggles of these everyday scientists. Every day I walk past it, and I have the urge to print off and add hundreds of sheets of paper labels of other things that they were not: “NOT Elephants,” “NOT Bombs,” “NOT People,” and so on, with one that just says “MAYBE a metaphor for human drive to stall the inevitability of death.”

Pictured above: Sign on the flammable (inflammable?) materials closet. Another victory for CAPS LOCK.

I'M SO GLAD THAT THE TOP OF THIS SHELF IS CLEAR. I FEEL VERY SAFE. OH, AND YOU'RE WELCOME. I WAS GOING TO PUT SOME FLAMMABLE MATERIALS ON TOP, BUT SINCE YOU SAID THANK YOU, I FELT COMPELLED TO OBLIGE. WHY ARE WE YELLING?

Pictured above: An anthropomorphized brain slicer.

See? Mad scientists know how to have fun. They put eyes and a mouth on this brain slicer, which is clearly humorous. Much better than the time that robot we built that could only experience pain escaped into the woods. The villagers thought that was much less funny.

Pictured above: Arch on campus. '06!

Ah, unnecessary quotation marks. What is the proper reading of this arch? Is it saying “06” ironically? Sarcastically? In my mind, the arch is saying “06” while rolling its eyes and wishing its parent arches weren't so square.

Pictured above: Farewell, university arch. You know, old-timey lantern, I think I just might miss you most of all.

Now, I am preparing for the brutal transition from professional student scientist to professional student doctor. Well, it's not that hard. It really just means wearing a slightly shorter white coat, though I am excited to have a real reason to wear a tie.

Science Initiation

You are about to hear about a ritual never before documented by modern investigation: the savage initiation into scientific research.

When men and women of "normal" professions, such as firemen or nurses, go through their daily lives, they are able to enjoy a reasonable amount of comfort. They know that there is vocational transparency in how they shoot water from a hose or stab children in the arm with needles. The public appreciates their service, often showing their gratitude in the form of popular song.

But what of that shady cabal of professionals known as "scientists"? They are universally feared for their excess of evil and unkempt hair, and thus remain a mystery. I penetrated their cult to shed some light on this dark, modern-day magick.

I entered the nefarious laboratory camera-in-hand, ready to capture evidence of hideous mutant, hybrid man-beasts or bubbling cauldrons of corrosive acids for alchemy (now outlawed all US States, with the exception of Massachusetts, where it is mandatory). But I instead found this:


Document A: The laboratory. This was the show-floor, available for public viewing, appeasing the expectations of a gullible populace. The real research was being conducted thirty stories below the earth, in the famous Northwestern science bunker/fallout shelter/fallout generator.

Upon my entrance, I was blindfolded and forced to recite the names of Nobel laureates. When I got to Linus Pauling, I was forced to drink a gallon of orange juice.

After a number of subsequent trials, including one where I had to identify each element of the periodic table by smell alone, I had become one of them. I had truly joined their ranks and become a scientist.


Document B: The trophy. I was presented this coffee mug as a testament to my initiation. Also, the phrase "Neurobiology & Physiology" was branded onto my back with a cattle iron.

My colleagues assured me that the cup will come in handy when I attend lengthy lab meetings or blood oaths. In either, it is important to stay hydrated.