Oh, Sir Fleming, you most disorganized of scientists.
You took a holiday without cleaning up, for lack of a better word, the miscellaneous crap in your lab. I frown upon you, yes sir, for that is unacceptable lab etiquette.
You came back to find your cultures devastated by killer fungi. What did you expect, the plates weren't sterile!
And then won the Nobel Prize because that mushroom turned out to be penicillin.
Lucky you.
If I left the lab for two weeks, here's what I'd find:
You took a holiday without cleaning up, for lack of a better word, the miscellaneous crap in your lab. I frown upon you, yes sir, for that is unacceptable lab etiquette.
You came back to find your cultures devastated by killer fungi. What did you expect, the plates weren't sterile!
And then won the Nobel Prize because that mushroom turned out to be penicillin.
Lucky you.
If I left the lab for two weeks, here's what I'd find:
Fig. 1 : Gallus gallus in a Petri dish
Just another benefit of working with chicken cells, I suppose... Maybe I'll win the Nobel Prize someday for solving the world's hunger problems through sloppiness?
Nah. The cells won't make a chicken. Just a lot of chicken blood cells. Boring, really. But it's funnier to imagine that way.
Especially after The Boss told us to not use other people's tubes for fear of disastrous consequences (I think he meant the experiment not working, but picturing the lab overrun with spontaneously-generated chickens was a whole lot more interesting.)
Nah. The cells won't make a chicken. Just a lot of chicken blood cells. Boring, really. But it's funnier to imagine that way.
Especially after The Boss told us to not use other people's tubes for fear of disastrous consequences (I think he meant the experiment not working, but picturing the lab overrun with spontaneously-generated chickens was a whole lot more interesting.)
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