Unnecessary Lesson 1: Don't Fuck With Thermometers
I've had plenty of accidents over the years which, to put things mildly, could have been avoided. By this, I mean that I actually had to go to reasonable lengths to cause the accidents, doing nothing would have neatly sidestepped the problem. This unfortunately moves us slightly outside the conventional definition of "accident", but I'll ignore this and move on.
After a quiet drink or six one Saturday afternoon, myself and GB returned to our house to relax in our own unique ways. I lay on my sofa, chain smoking cigarettes and staring angrily at the wall. GB commenced one of his favourite hobbies, an eight hour scat porn fest using only my laptop and a 56k modem.
I shortly grew weary of my chosen activity and began a search for alternatives. For some reason, I came across an alcohol based thermometer sitting innocently in my room. Looking at the expansion tank at the top, starting just after the magical temperature of 110°C had been passed gave me an idea. A bad idea, in all honesty. What would happen when the expansion tank became full? Would the pressure produced be enough to crack the thermometer? Was the alcohol inside drinkable? I resolved to carry out a controlled experiment.
Holding the thermometer in one hand and my lighter in another, I gently applied heat to the bulb. The liquid quickly rushed up to the level of the expansion tank. Removing the heat caused the level indicator to separate into small blobs of red stuff. Reasoning that the thermometer was now broken, I started the experiment in earnest.
Approximately 10 seconds of direct heat to the thermometer later, the experiment took an exciting turn. The thermometer exploded with a reasonably loud bang and shards of glass averaging 2/3mm in length flew out in its place with a surprising amount of force. Fortunately, much of this glass was stopped from causing damage to the walls, furniture and windows by my right hand.
When GB arrived to see what the noise was about, I was still picking bits of glass out of myself. One piece in particular was proving difficult, slippery with blood and deep in the flesh right next to the base of the nail on my thumb. GB took one look at me and fell around laughing. A look in a nearby mirror confirmed the reason why.
The flying glass had been far from limited to my hand, as I had previously thought. There was a piece in my forehead just above my right eyebrow. A decent sized sliver had hit my lip and made this it's new home. Yet another was stuck fast in my left cheek. Blood was running freely from these wounds (as it will with head injuries), leaving my face smeared with red, as I'd rubbed the "itchy" spots.
The alcohol seemed to vaporise the second it left the thermometer too. With hindsight, I was lucky to be wearing glasses and not blinded as a result. Also with hindsight, it was not a good idea to hold a lighter to a thermometer to see what happens when it's pressure release (or in other words, safety) system is overloaded.
Still, as they say, you learn something new everyday. It's just in many examples, I shouldn't need to.
After a quiet drink or six one Saturday afternoon, myself and GB returned to our house to relax in our own unique ways. I lay on my sofa, chain smoking cigarettes and staring angrily at the wall. GB commenced one of his favourite hobbies, an eight hour scat porn fest using only my laptop and a 56k modem.
I shortly grew weary of my chosen activity and began a search for alternatives. For some reason, I came across an alcohol based thermometer sitting innocently in my room. Looking at the expansion tank at the top, starting just after the magical temperature of 110°C had been passed gave me an idea. A bad idea, in all honesty. What would happen when the expansion tank became full? Would the pressure produced be enough to crack the thermometer? Was the alcohol inside drinkable? I resolved to carry out a controlled experiment.
Holding the thermometer in one hand and my lighter in another, I gently applied heat to the bulb. The liquid quickly rushed up to the level of the expansion tank. Removing the heat caused the level indicator to separate into small blobs of red stuff. Reasoning that the thermometer was now broken, I started the experiment in earnest.
Approximately 10 seconds of direct heat to the thermometer later, the experiment took an exciting turn. The thermometer exploded with a reasonably loud bang and shards of glass averaging 2/3mm in length flew out in its place with a surprising amount of force. Fortunately, much of this glass was stopped from causing damage to the walls, furniture and windows by my right hand.
When GB arrived to see what the noise was about, I was still picking bits of glass out of myself. One piece in particular was proving difficult, slippery with blood and deep in the flesh right next to the base of the nail on my thumb. GB took one look at me and fell around laughing. A look in a nearby mirror confirmed the reason why.
The flying glass had been far from limited to my hand, as I had previously thought. There was a piece in my forehead just above my right eyebrow. A decent sized sliver had hit my lip and made this it's new home. Yet another was stuck fast in my left cheek. Blood was running freely from these wounds (as it will with head injuries), leaving my face smeared with red, as I'd rubbed the "itchy" spots.
The alcohol seemed to vaporise the second it left the thermometer too. With hindsight, I was lucky to be wearing glasses and not blinded as a result. Also with hindsight, it was not a good idea to hold a lighter to a thermometer to see what happens when it's pressure release (or in other words, safety) system is overloaded.
Still, as they say, you learn something new everyday. It's just in many examples, I shouldn't need to.
posted by Peter O'Phile at
11:47 am
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