Honorary Snowflakes

               Last Friday was a stressful day. From the Calc quiz I took first period, to the slab pot (my nemesis) I molded together during second period ceramics, (which then made me late for my third period class), to the lab I had to finish with my always-snowflake group last period, I was ready to leave. And it’s a good thing, too, because right after school, my mom, my aunt, and I were scheduled to take a road trip down to the Grove City Outlets.
               The moment the last bell rang, I gathered my weekend homework, threw it into my bag, and hurried into the warm afternoon sun. (Yes, the air was warmer over the weekend again. And now it’s dipped back down below fifty degrees. Oh, the joys of northwestern Pennsylvania weather.) I sped home in my car (not really…I drive the speed limit!) and shoved some clothes in a bag. Now all that was left was the wait.
               And wait I did. For an hour and a half. Oh, the agony! Finally, my aunt arrived, and my mom and I hopped into our respective seats. The ride itself was pretty uneventful. We mostly just chattered about the trivial things, like homework and Homecoming and unicorns, but I was already feeling better.
               Around five o’clock, we pulled into the hotel parking lot. Our room, (which we reached via super-awesome-cool elevator with a door that read “Call me, maybe”), made me feel like an Eskimo. I would be living in an icebox, an igloo, for a whole, oh, ten hours. How would I ever survive? (But seriously, I thought I might die of hypothermia before the morning.)
               On our way to dinner, we stopped at the information desk. My aunt, (also known as “G-money”), said to the woman behind the counter, “Uh, we were just wondering…is there any way we can raise the temperature in our room? Both of the knobs have been taken off of our central air unit.”
               The woman laughed, “There should be a thermostat on the wall somewhere.”
               “Oh, well that helps. Thank you!”
               Driving a few hundred feet, we arrived at our next stop: The Elephant & Castle English Pub. They sat us right next to a window that put the central traffic of Grove City on display. Our waiter came over for our orders.
               “What can I get you ladies tonight?” he asked us.
               G-money went first. “I’ll have the chicken, please.”
               I, being ever-so-traditional, ordered the fish and chips.
               And my mom: the meatloaf.
               As the waiter walked away with our orders and my mom and aunt jumped into a conversation about their respective jobs, I glanced around me. The walls were decorated with slabs of finely furnished wood, with matching tables and chair. Each waiter wore a simple tee with the restaurant’s name on it and a pair of jeans. It was casual dining, laid-back.
               The waiter came back with our food and I jumped back into the conversation. I looked at my aunt, “So, who’s in your class this year?” (She teaches chemistry at my high school.) And so she listed off the names of some of her students, and also told me about the nicknames she gave them. (For example, one girl is Granny-J, another is Wheezy, and three boys with the same name in one class are each called by their last names…or Thing 1, Thing 2, and Thing 3.)
               While we were chatting about my fellow students, my mom took a great interest in the table directly outside of our window. (Why anyone would choose to eat outside with the traffic nearby, I'm not sure.) She was watching a scene unfold. Finally, she broke into our conversation, leaning forward and whispering so that only we could hear, “I think Mom just broke some bad news to Daughter. They’re both crying.”
                I glanced out the window and then back to my mom, and let out a long sigh. "Mom," I said, gesturing to the rest of the restaurant, "look around you. Does it look like anyone else cares?"
                She huffed, "No, but..."
                I interrupted her. (And also stole a piece of her meatloaf. I'll just say this: yum.) "Well then leave the poor people alone, won't you?"
                She rolled her eyes, "Yes, mom."
                (I swear, sometimes I'm the mom, and she's the child. Ugh.)
                The real tension tamer came later that night. Our hotel, (the one with the thermostat that we promptly adjusted the moment we walked back into our room), also housed a hot tub. We arrived at the perfect time: no one was in sight. As is always the case with girls' weekends, I cannot divulge every bit of information, but I can say this: the water was soothing, and we played a few rounds of those super-lame party games for pre-teens (e.g. Would You Rather, Truth or Dare (minus the dare), and the ever-corny trivia questions). And later, we had a great discussion about Pennsylvanian politics with a man from Georgia. How did our night end? Two words: Mean Girls. The rest of our night consisted of my shouting out phrases like, "You go, Glen Coco!" or "On Wednesdays, we wear pink." (Mean Girls is me, and I am Mean Girls. We are one.<--- And there you'll see my Lion King II reference.)

                The next day, we shopped.  All.  Day.  Long.  There were a few snowflake moments, (but, of course, how could there not be?), but none scarred me too badly.

                We're home now, back to the temperamental weather of the Pennsylvania/New York state border.  The grapes are ready for picking, and we have no idea what the weather will be like tomorrow.  For now, I've been relieved of the stress that's been building up since the start of school.  Sometimes all it takes is a simple car ride out of town, a little bit of girl time, and another snowflake moment.  (Of course, now I'm left to finish all the homework I never took with me, but it's definitely worth it.)

The Blender Blunder

  I am a basket case.  During last period the other day, (Human Anatomy and Physiology), I completely missed the punchline of a short joke made by Mr. Science.  Before I say anything else, I have to explain Mr. Science:

1.) He loves what he teaches.  Literally.  To Mr. Science, the human body is this most amazing machine in the universe, which is something he reminds us of every class.

2.) He’s really quite funny, (which is why I wasn’t all that offended when he made the short joke).
3.) He likes to pick on people…no…I take that back.  He likes to pick on everyone. For instance, on this particular day, a conversation went as follows:

Mr. Science:  Alright is it polar covalent or nonpolar covalent?”

Student: Uh…nonpolar covalent?

Mr. Science: Right, it’s polar covalent.

So, on that early September day, as I sat in the upper right hand corner of the room, the hairs of my arms standing on end from the chill, I lazily jotted down a few notes on lipids, and glanced around at my fellow students who were also taking (probably much better) notes.  Ah, always the studious bunch.  A few minutes into the lesson, he stopped for a second and with his x-ray vision looked straight at me.

           “No offense, but I would totally outlive you if we were stranded on an island.  I’ve got more meat, and therefore more protein to survive on when the hunger kicks in.”  It took me about 30 seconds to realize he was talking about my height. Laughter is his teaching method!  This was not the end of the period, though. There was still much to learn.

           We went through another half-hour or so of notes as a few others suffered at the expense of Mr. Science’s outrageous, (and hilarious), scenarios he uses to help us connect with the material.  At the halfway point, he passed out a lab.  And this is where the real trouble began.

           My partner and I gathered the materials we needed, (some moldy strawberries, 100 mL of a soapy solution, and 10 mL of salt water), and set to work on the assignment.  With a scalpel, we cut the strawberries into quarters, and threw them into a blender, along with the soap solution and salt water.  We plugged the blender in and kicked it on, watching as the strawberries were shredded and juiced, mixing with the other additives.  After two minutes, we turned it off.  And here’s where we hit a snag.

           At home, I have a Ninja, (a blender quite similar to a NutriBullet).  To take the Ninja off of its base, I first have to twist it.  Naturally I attempted to do the same with the blender labeled with a 75 cent yard sale price tag.  It turns out, it was 75 cents for a reason.  When I twisted the blender, I managed to pull it off the base, but I also managed to lose all of the contents inside of it.  A 75 cent blender isn’t supposed to be twisted off, and so it really should have been no surprise to me when the bottom fell out and pink, foamy goop flooded out and on to the counter.  But it was.  Oops.

          Mortified, I whipped around and called out, “Mr. Science!”

           He glanced over at us, smiled, and then started toward us.  “Did you twist it?” he asked.

           We answered in unison, “Yes…”  And he laughed.  Hysterically.

           “You have to pull this one off the base,” he explained.  “But don’t worry,” he said kindly.  “There’s always a group of snowflakes.”

           I think we all have those simple tasks assigned to us that we assume will go off without a hitch, but somehow we manage to make a mess of things.  We fail to observe carefully. We’re all “snowflakes” in some way or another.  In my case, I can’t do a lab without somehow screwing it up.  But really, that’s okay because each lab presents me with a new opportunity to tell a story.

           (In other news, I think I’m going to start a new club called The Secret Snowflake Society.)