PART 1: WHAT'S GOOD FOR THE GEIGER-COUNTER IS GOOD FOR THE...GIRL?

From the time I was a child, I have been fascinated with science. I obtained my first dissection-kit when I was four years old; my first microscope when I was eight.

Unfortunately, I had little regard for my own life. When I was 12, I became a member of the school Science Olympiad team. Science Olympiad is an elite team of science students who compete with other schools in standardised tests at the regional, state, and national level; similar in many ways to the 'Brain Bowl'.

One of the 'events' in which I competed was called [very creatively] 'Rocks and Minerals'. The purpose of this event was to memorise a list of some 150 rocks and minerals, along with their locality, mode of formation, and use to humans. As a treat, I and the rest of the people in my section were taken to visit the local university, which had a large and high-quality collection of rocks.

We browsed through the collection, marveling at the beauty of the specimens. To test our knowledge, our chaperone would ask us various questions about the properties of the rocks we were handling.

As we came to the end of the allotted time, our guide decided to end the trip on a climactic note. She took us into a room which held the rarest [and possibly the most dangerous] rocks. After showing us the fluorescent minerals and the strange crystals, she brought from a storage-cabinet an unassuming grey rock in a thick Plexiglas case. We children were not impressed with the rock, until she told us what it was: 'This is pitchblende, kids. Uranium ore.' We gaped and gathered round. She opened a panel on the box, but did not remove the pitchblende. The opening in the box was [presumably] too small for a human hand to enter and touch the ore. She then produced the Holy of Holies: A Geiger-counter.

I was the only child who knew what a Geiger-counter was beforehand. I was fascinated by nuclear chemistry, physics and weapons [or any weapons of mass destruction, really]. The time was soon after 9/11, and like many children, I was half-expecting to witness the Apocalypse. Slowly, tantalisingly, she moved the probe of the Geiger-counter in and out of the box, explaining as she did so that the box was made of leaded polycarbonate. 'klikklikKLIKKLIKKDEEEEEEK! klikklikKLIKKLIKKKDEEEEK!' The Geiger-counter sang its siren-song. All of the children, including myself, stared in awe.

After we had witnessed the majesty of the Geiger-counter, the guide left the room with our chaperone. As soon as the guide had left, I switched into full-on kamikaze mode: 'Who wants to see me pick up this lump of pitchblende?!' I said with a gap-toothed grin. The other girl squealed. The boy grinned. The game was on.

The hole in the box was meant to be too small to admit a human hand. Unfortunately, I was quite small for a 12-year-old; 4'7" tall and 65 pounds. I also had very dextrous fingers. I slipped two fingers into the box and grabbed the pitchblende, easing the rock up against my palm. The lump of mineral was too large to be removed from the box, so 'picking it up' simply meant 'significant contact with hand'. Still, I had handled radioactive material. Next stop, hazardous-waste bin! Then nuclear-power plant! Then...! My head filled with dreams of more carcinogenic daredevilry. 'You're gonna get cancer,' remarked the other girl. That didn't stop me, but the sound of footsteps did. I was not caught nor punished, but I was probably lucky that the chaperone had arrived when she did. My next plan was to charge the other children 50 cents apiece to see me lick it!

My other stories are more recent, and more of a threat to life and limb. In both instances, I was over the age of majority.

PART 2: MACGYVER SAYS, 'DON'T STYLE HAIR AND DRIVE'

This story takes place only eight months ago. I used to wear my hair in a long braid, which I kept looped on the back of my head in the shape of a hangman's noose. I was very protective of this braid, and did not like it to get mussed in any way. I used several rubber-bands to keep the fine, straight black hair under strict control.

I also used to work at a library. This library was less than a kilometre from my house, so I would ride my bicycle to work. One day, as I was pedaling along, one of the rubber-bands that kept the braid in its neat coil snapped, sending the braid tumbling down my back. This irritated me, so I decided to re-do my hair then and there. A fairly reasonable idea, but most people would STOP THE BICYCLE before they styled their hair. But I kept cycling, using only my feet to steer [you see, I needed both hands to style my hair!].

That was stupid enough, but the level of idiocy was soon to increase. I reached into my pocket for a new rubber band. Not finding it [and still cycling!], I decided to try and splice the broken band together while continuing to pedal onward.

I began to splice the band, still moving at a speed of at least 10mph. Then, disaster struck. I had to turn a corner. Still trying to splice the band [I was even using my teeth at this point], I made a wide swerve. My momentum carried me over the kerb. My personal inertia carried me over the handlebars and sent me skidding along the sidewalk. I was lucky. I have very good reflexes, so I managed to land in the approved hand-foot-knee position. Unfortunately, I was wearing a skirt and sandals at the time. I flayed all of the skin off of my right ankle and a good 50% of the skin off of my palms.

I have an extremely high pain-tolerance, so my injuries were not my first concern. After checking the bicycle for damage, I sopped up some of the blood with my skirt and cuffs [I was wearing navy-blue]. Then, undaunted, I continued on to work. I was bleeding a good deal, so when I entered the building I was greeted by exclamations of alarm. I assured my co-workers that I was uninjured [sort of], and walked to the bathroom to clean the wound and remove the rest of the embedded gravel.

My palms ceased to bleed fairly quickly, but my ankle continued to drizzle blood. Such a potential biohazard for the patrons! I had to stop the bleeding if I wanted to do my job. Instead of using the gauze in the first-aid cabinet, I recalled a story of my uncle, who accidentally dropped an ax on his foot. He used a large tin of epoxy glue and some old rags to slow the bleeding long enough to drive himself to the hospital, 45 miles away [he didn't want to pay for an ambulance]. Genius!

Possessed of a less necessary creative spark, I searched for a similar sticky substance which could stop the bleeding. Rags/gauze/other cloth products, of course, were for smart people. I would seal my wounds with a veneer of glue! After a short search through the supply-cabinet, I found what I was looking for: Super-Glue. The Super-Glue stopped the bleeding, but the corrosive nature of the product caused extensive scarring. I now have large, purple keloidal scars on my right ankle. My palms healed with no scarring.

PART 3: HAPPY SWITCHBLADE TO YOU

This story takes place on my 19th birthday. The day I turned 19, I went to visit some friends who lived in another city. I intended to stay the night at the house of a friend named 'Kira' [names are Internet monikers]. When I arrived, she and another friend, 'Draco', greeted me with gifts. Kira's gift was an illegally-burned DVD of various sci-fi movies that she had pirated off the Internet; hazardous only to one's criminal record.

Draco, however, was more of a traditionalist. He collected knives, guns, and samurai swords. He had noticed how I coveted his collection, and decided to bequeath to me a switchblade of which he already had a duplicate. I thanked both of them profusely, and as a show of appreciation for Draco's gift, I decided to display my prowess at the game 'Bloody Knuckles'. If you are not familiar with 'Bloody Knuckles', it is a game in which one spreads their hand on a hard surface, leaving spaces between the fingers; then attempts to quickly stab the spaces between their fingers with a sharp object, making sure to avoid their fingers. Usually, this is done with a pencil or similar. I did it with a switchblade.

Full of bravado and 3.00-in-the-morning caffiene, I uttered the Darwin Awards' trademark phrase: 'Watch this!' I then played 'Bloody Knuckles' at breakneck speed with my new switchblade. The hard surface was polished Formica. This endeavour was bound to fail.

After about five go-rounds, I decided to up the ante and play the game in the opposite direction [pinky-to-thumb instead of thumb-to-pinky]. On the first go-round, I misjudged, skidded the knife on the Formica, and stabbed my left index finger above the second knuckle. The knife hit the bone, but the cut was so clean that there was surprisingly little blood. Still, there was enough to drip down my fingers and stain the white carpet. My words? 'Oh, f---! Sorry about your carpet! Do you have any baking-soda?'

A bit of baking-soda [an excellent stypic; I read about it in a book of home remedies] and some direct pressure to the wound, and I was perfectly well.

This missive is too long to include the occasion I dislocated my hip falling 20 feet off of a windowside trellis [16 yrs old], the time I did play-surgery on my lip with a pair of scissors[6 yrs old], and my experiment of biting down on an electrical cord while the power was on [10 yrs old]; so I will leave you with this thought: Like science, stupidity is a calling, and I am called to both.

Submitted on 01/22/2009

Submitted by: Anonymous
Reference: Personal Account

Copyright © 2009 DarwinAwards.com

Candi said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
Man oh man. Girl, I'm surprised they haven't locked you in a padded room for your own safety by now! As far as the Darwin goes, I esp. like that you acknowledge that the only drug you were on was caffeine for one of these, and you are willing to admit that you don't seem to have the gene for common sense! Please keep us posted and thank you for the laughs!

Bruce said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
Thanks for the entertaining stories! Please make sure to tell all your friends to let us know when you finally make it into the running for a full DA.

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