Malaysian Invasion

Like Entomology, the whole DNA sequencing thing is not really my bag.  Fortunately for me an import from across the world makes my 7-to-4 (not 9-to-5) bag a little lighter, and I refer to this laboratory phenomenon as the “Malaysian Invasion”.  Visually, this movement is contained within a 6′, tan Malaysian male with Chinese ancestry.  He is distinguished from others with a similar appearance by his almost permanent smile and the constant use of “my freeeeennnn” while speaking.  If you experience this invasion, do not be alarmed.  You will probably enjoy the encounter and want to be his “fren” in no time at all.

A few weeks back I made a smart-alecky comment brought about from our usual banter, and his retort was, “You are a stinky, big, fat weilder who smells like metal!”

Confused I asked, “What’s a weilder?”

“You know, w-e-i-l-d-e-r…he has a thing (makes torch motion) and metal and builds stuff…like the girl in the movie that danced…there was water…you know, a weilder.”

“Uh, a welder?”

“Yeah, that’s you and you stink like metal!”

Through the laughter, I managed to squeeze out “Sometimes you are a goober.  Seriously.  You are such a weirdo, a big, stinky weirdo who smells…weird.”

A few days later I was again reminded why he makes genetics a little more tolerable when a storm caused all the machines in the lab to lose electricity.  The power outage affected our centrifuge by stopping his run of the initial 3-minute spin required for Big Dye purification plates.  Since there was no way to tell exactly how long the plates had been in the machine, I suggested throwing them away rather than risk affecting his sequencing results.  He noted how much water had been collected in the plate reservoir with, “Hmm, should be okay.”

I voiced my skepticism by saying, “You’re pretty brave, kid.  But I guess they’re your plates.”

“Have faith my fren.  It will be okay because I am stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive…I, I, I, Iiiiii”m stayin’ alive,” was the lyrical Bee Gee inspired reassurance he cheerily sang to me.  All I could do was laugh and tell him how weird he is.

Maybe one day it will sink in, but hopefully not any time soon.

Idiosyncrasies

The most common words I hear when someone describes me are:  “weird”, “unique”, “different”.  They may not be my first, second, or third choices, but I embrace them as partially true nonetheless.

I was born with the gift of accepting self-deprecating humor quite graciously…most of the time.  When you do as many ridiculous, ditsy, and embarrassing things as I do learning to laugh at oneself is absolutely imperative to keeping a positive attitude. Miraculously, and mysteriously, I still manage to come off as somewhat clever despite my ungraceful shortcomings .  It’s a gift.  Examples include:  Cutting my lip with a pickle spear, having the serial number of my car manifold branded to my arm, or shutting a locked door that resulted in having to spend the night in the Entomology building with hundreds of gigantic cockroaches scurrying about—all happened.  The spear incident was one of those moments where I had to physically check my lip in the mirror to see if I was capable of wounding myself with a pickle.  I was very capable.  Being branded by my car was a secondary discovery.  I was relaying the story of my car breaking down and how I attempted to grab the starter switch but was burned by the manifold.  As I lifted my arm to display the burn I exclaimed, “Ah, jeezus! You HAVE to be kidding me!?”  Neatly branded on my forearm, in the color of freshly burned skin, “4739″ appeared clearly.  Now, the lab incident:  Initially, I tried picking the lock and gave up quickly in hopes of finding a spare set of keys.   Every janitorial closet door I opened seemed to cast light on numerous scurrying insects, so that plan was also abandoned rather hastily.  Freaked out and paranoid from all the creepy crawlers, I found an “empty” room to bunk in for the night.  I was not laughing at my plight, but my professor/boss got a kick out of the note scrawled on a paper plate (it was all I could find), “Locked myself out.  In a room down the hall somewhere…if you can’t find me, the roaches got me.  Help!”  Not hilarious to me at all, Professor.

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