Iowa State University Alumni Association| online edition | fall 2006
Have mercy!

 


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HAVE MERCY!

What do you get when you cross a nun with a flammable liquid? In my case, a failing grade in chemistry.

The first college I attended was a Catholic school for women run by the Sisters of Mercy. I’d chosen nursing as my major. I wasn’t particularly interested in healthcare – the sight of a hypodermic needle still makes me more nervous than a termite at a Tupperware party – but I knew a nursing degree meant a good job after graduation.

Nursing programs require students to take courses in chemistry, a subject I managed to avoid in high school by joining the debate team. I had no real interest in debate but it was the only thing scheduled opposite chemistry. It took years for our principal to figure out the relationship between the size of our chemistry classes and the size of the debate team.

I took my first chemistry course during fall semester of my freshman year. I immediately knew I was out of my element, so to speak. Nearly all of the other students had had four years of high school science. (Obviously, their schools lacked a debate program.) My lab partner was a brilliant young woman with plans to become a doctor. She wasn’t thrilled at the thought of spending three mornings a week with someone who couldn’t tell a Bunsen burner from a Tiki torch. We eventually developed a system that worked for both of us, however: She ran the lab and I took notes. I’ve always had good penmanship.

There comes a time in each student’s academic career when she has to put up or shut up. I made the wrong choice. On a day when my lab partner was absent, I foolishly volunteered to assist Sister Mary Roberta with an experiment. She asked me to hand her a beaker filled with a liquid. Years later I’m still quite sure she didn’t qualify her request with an appropriate adverb like “carefully.” I slid the beaker across the smooth counter surface, splashing some of its contents on her. No big deal, I thought. Clear liquid, black cloth,
no stain. Then she started smoking, literally. I watched in horror as the liquid I’d splashed on her made a holey mess of her habit. I have no idea what happened next. I fled the lab and never returned (not that I was asked to).

I changed majors the next day, selecting the first one that did not require chemistry – 19th century comparative Russian studies. It was a good move; I’ve yet to burn a hole in anything with Crime and Punishment.

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About the Writer | Pam Reinig is director of engineering communications and marketing at Iowa State.