Secret Agent Science Stud

by Kaya

Sadly, my science career peaked when I was in the sixth grade. Using the word “career” is an exaggeration, of course, but had I stuck to the high-stakes science path I was on I’m sure I’d be growing ears on mice or creating citrus toothpaste by now. I can only assume my sixth grade science project caught the attention of the likes of NASA and several wealthy scientific benefactors operating think tanks for geniuses of the scientifical arts such as myself. I’d imagine myself in a think tank in Hawaii, working on top-secret formulas by day and seducing the bronzed Polynesian ladies at night…and solving crimes during my lunch break, time permitting. I’d be the brash, young scientist with a pierced ear and a devil-may-care attitude. I’d arrive to the Christmas parties (in my Cherry Red Ferrari with the license plate ‘200 IQ 4ME’) with a different supermodel on my arm each year. I’d have the scientific talents to back up my cocky and debonair demeanor and six-pack abs that you could pour batter on to make waffles.

That is, of course, if I hadn’t lost my edge in the academic community and showed no particular skills in any scientific arena after the sixth grade.

The sixth grade science project was not as glamorous as I had been led to believe. There was no major cash prizes, no statuettes to bring home (or prepare speeches for receiving) and very little shameless groupie sex going on. While the endorsement deals with beaker sales companies and centrifuge cleaners barely brought in enough dough to keep even a mild science habit going, the lure of my Hawaiian scientific think-tank/private investigator/gigolo gig kept my attention.

Most of the sixth grade science projects from my classmates involved mold. There must have been four or five projects titled “Where Mold Grows Best.” While mold is truly an glorious medium to work with, the necessity in understanding what part of the house mold grew best escaped me. My family threw away bread when it got moldy. Were there families who actually sought out bread with mold on it? No need to conduct time-consuming research to rot bread, just come over to my house. Was there a Mom somewhere holding a loaf of bread searching around her house for the place to most-quickly ruin her sandwiches? “Hmmm…under the sink? On top of the fridge? In the garage? We can put a man on the moon, but the government can’t tell me the best place to mold up my bread?”

Needless to say, if I was going to become a famous, wealthy and impossibly good-looking scientist I needed to separate myself from the mold-growers. As good fortune would have it, a few years before sixth grade I had come to realize that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Russians and the Tooth Fairy had something in common. They all were created to keep children in line and none of them were actually “real.” Given my Mom’s role in the existence of all of these characters (and her extreme sentimental nature) I thought she might have something to work with.

In an act both loving and creepy, my mom handed over all of my ‘baby teeth’ that had been cashed in for a quarter in years past. I had placed these little enamel investments under my pillow and assumed I would never see them again. As an agent of the tooth fairy, my mom saved all of my brother’s and my teeth. I can only hope she had the foresight that I might use them in a future science project and not something more sinister (Cloning? Making a voodoo necklace? Arts and crafts projects? Homemade dentures for babies?)

Losing teeth seems so long ago. It really is quite different from anything we experience as adults. Nothing leaves our body only to be replaced by a stronger, larger better version that fits our new body shape. When we get older, we lose hair – but it doesn’t return thicker and more full of body. We simply go bald. We lose teeth again, but we don’t get a new batch again, we just eat more soup and use false teeth.

Having a loose tooth was so promising. You were growing up, shedding your “baby” teeth and about to get some hard-earned money for that tooth. Your tongue would wiggle the imprisoned tooth relentlessly, even tonguing the tender and newly naked gums below. Then, when it was at its final stage, that tooth would hold on by one tendril – it’s last chance to remain in the mouth. Pulling on it only made it angry, but twisting it showed that this root had a weakness. It would finally be free and your mouth would have the bizarre feeling of a missing tooth awaiting the arrival of a new, adult tooth. Bigger, stronger, sharper. Put that gross, little tooth under your pillow and it’s payday time.

With two handfuls of gross, little teeth in tow, I stated my hypothesis. What part of the house would these teeth grow mold the quickest? I quickly talked myself out of that idea and settled on testing the effect of different liquids on these once proud teeth.

I used 15 teeth, each was left to soak in its own film canister of varied liquids (Yes, my mother also had dozens of film canisters available. There was always a project that might need a Popsicle stick, film canister or egg carton. Our garage looked like an abandoned convenience store with boxes of now useless products. Apparently the promise of a clever Christmas tree ornament made of pipe cleaners and Popsicle sticks is simply too good to pass up.). I had a tooth soaking in orange juice, Coca-Cola, milk, Sprite, water (for a control subject) and a few others.

For two weeks I checked in on these little cesspools of spoiling liquid and decaying enamel. Finally, when the two weeks were up, I pulled out the teeth and marked my results.

The most dramatic change was the tooth bathing in Coca-Cola. That tooth had turned nearly black and was frightening to even look at. The acidic orange juice had practically turned its tooth clear. Further research would have to be done to explain why, but my guess was it was the work of evil juice gnomes…or the Russians. What about milk? Did the calcium-rich milk gloriously keep the tooth in pristine condition? Well, perhaps my next study will be about the magical transformation that occurs when you leave milk in room temperature for two weeks. “Where does cottage cheese grow best?” Being on the cutting edge of science is a stinky business.

After my triumphant proof that soda actually is bad for your teeth (and the subsequent smear campaign against me and my scientific achievement from the Coca-Cola Corporation), I was ready for more glory. Two years later came the much more grand Eighth-Grade Science Fair.

If winning a ribbon at the sixth-grade science fair was like placing seventh in an Olympic event, a ribbon at the eighth-grade science fair was like finishing fourth. You could cut through the nerd-filled excitement with some sort of scientific cutting tool. With pre-fair buzz centered around my scientific prowess and Luden’s Cherry Lozenge addiction in elementary school, I knew I was the guy to beat.

My project title?

“Does Stretching Really Work?”

Sadly, my report could have been four words long. “Yes, stretching really works.” I suppose I could have shortened it to one word (simply “Yes”), but my flair for prose prevented it.

My unimpressive project involved a group of people that I had complete a standing broad jump. Then stretch. Then jump again. Then stretch. Then jump again. And, you know what? People improved! By golly, stretching really works! Alert the military -- if we’re going to ever beat the Russians at the standing broad jump, we’ve got to get this information to the Pentagon!

I could feel the Nobel Prize slipping through my prepubescent hands.

I had lost my scientific edge. I didn’t even get an award other than the insulting green scarlet letter of ribbons; the ‘Participant’ ribbon. No amount of cherry-flavored cough drops or black-teeth inducing soda could cheer me up. My career in science fizzled out like a Bunsen burner deprived of it’s gas source.

My only solace came years later when I learned that my fiancé did her science project on unicorns. Unicorns?! A “science” teacher let you do a report on a mythical beast with one horn? I love it. Suddenly a project on stretching, standing broad jumps and defeating the Russians in an Olympic event that hadn’t been competed since the 1908 games in London didn’t seem so silly.

Then again, as a scientific community we know little about unicorns. Or leprechauns, elves, dragons, trolls or professional wrestling fans. Perhaps this is the future of science? Perhaps there is still room for a renegade scientist who has lots of promiscuous encounters with Hawaiian Tropic models and plays by one rule; there are no rules.

My love of science has returned. I’d better call the DMV and reserve ‘200 IQ 4ME’.