In case you were wondering, the inside of the storage shed for biological samples at the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center smells suspiciously like a frat basement. When I first walked in there, unaware that I was breaking the safety protocols, since the shed may also have had killer toxic mold, the smell reminded me of home. And you know there's probably something wrong with you when a shed full of pickled polychaete worms and parasitic barnacles brings back fond memories, but that's the truth.
My mission in the storage shed was a simple one: to de-mold and repack some of the samples that had been collected 10 years ago and were patiently waiting for some scientist to come along and analyze them. It's nice to know that in the "real world," people are forgetful too and collect trinkets that may someday be useful to someone, even if they're not sure exactly how.
I can commiserate with the moldy glass vials and jars packed away in storage. At Dartmouth, you get pretty good at packing and unpacking. I have friends who can deconstruct a whole room in a little under four hours. At Dartmouth, you get good at hauling your stuff to the basement of Mid Mass or New Hamp, though alas, as I learned last spring, Ripley Woodward Smith does not have the luxury of storage. You get good at doing your laundry at midnight the day before your noon coach leaves and praying that your twin XL comforter is dry enough that it doesn't collect mildew while you're away. You get good at pretending that basement flooding is a threat only for the hapless freshmen who stashed their stuff in the River and that there is no possible chance that any accident could wipe out all your wordly goods. You get good at putting your life at Dartmouth on hold while you travel the world or intern at some prestigious firm. You get good at hoping that everyone will leave a place for you and remember you when you get back.
One of the things I'm excited about for senior year, besides getting to see all the people I actually like in the same two-mile radius for the first time in two years, is never having to move again. Moving sucks. Packing is worse than unpacking, because at least when you unpack you sometimes experience the joy of rediscovering that awesome purple tutu you thought your roommate stole for Alpha Chi semi.
So here goes my proposal. Every week we'll go unpack some storage sheds. I'll find you some random facts, some errata, some long-forgotten footnote. Now would be a good time to divulge that "Tristram Shandy" is one of my favorite books. Digressing as a form of progression will be this column's motto. If you've read the book, you'll get it. If you haven't, go find an English major and ask them. Or Google it. Or just ask me. I'm on blitz a lot. On the surface, my column will probably have nothing to do with life at Dartmouth, but it will doubtless be very deep and thought-provoking and make you consider things in a new light. And if nothing else, you'll learn something.
Returning from the figurative storage shed to the literal one, I can now address the mystery of the eau de frat. Using my astute reasoning skills, I was able to deduce that the smell was not due to all gross things smelling like frat, but rather because we use 70 percent ethanol to preserve our samples. Ethanol is an interesting molecule. If I had actually taken organic chemistry, I could talk to you about the difference between things that end in anol and things that end in ene, but I haven't, so I can't. Ethanol is interesting as a preservative and cleanser, but it's more interesting as something you can actually drink.
Distillation of liquids, like most useful things, was invented by the Chinese and the Greeks. Distillation of alcohol was first documented in Salerno, Italy in the 12th century. I find it somewhat ironic that the same liquid that is used to preserve scientific samples (minus the poisonous stuff they throw in there so people won't drink it) is also what people imbibe to erase all memories of what happened last night. The "drinking at Dartmouth" phenomenon has been addressed in several outlets, so I won't go into it here. I will say this, though: in my experience, some of my best times at Dartmouth have involved consumption of alcohol, but also some of the worst.
So when you begin your Friday night of frolicking, try and party like its 1199. Think like a medieval monk in Salerno. This stuff took a long time to make, it's the late 12th century, and we just figured out how to make it, so please go easy on it. Also, you've learned a lot of cool stuff this week, and it would be a shame to forget all of it. I bet you (premeds and chemistry majors excluded) didn't know the chemical formula for ethanol, did you?
Next week we shall exit the storage shed and move into the larger world. I've already addressed how fascinating specimens can be preserved it's time to go out and collect some more.
