I’ve been volunteering in a lab the past few weeks, where I use nitrile gloves. No big deal, because they’re not latex, right? Welp, turns out I’ve got a NITRILE ALLERGY, aka THE ALLERGY NOBODY IS SUPPOSED TO HAVE. I’ve got this angry red rash on my hands and, well, it sucks. I’m traveling to Vancouver in a few days so I’ll be able to give my hands a break from the nitrile product for a couple of weeks, but it’s still annoying to find out that my sensitive skin is reacting to yet another material.
This discovery is pretty funny to me because I always thought a career in science was the path I was *destined* to follow (lol it wasn’t that set in stone, but I did plan on pursuing a degree and finding a job in that field), but virtually every career in an area of science requires that you wear some form of latex/nitrile gloves day in and day out for hours on end. Right now I can get away with wearing a pair of cotton gloves underneath the nitrile ones, but jobs that involve stuff like surgery and nursing demand a level of precision that a two-glove system just can’t deliver. I’ll figure out a solution. It’d be the singular, most hilarious thing if I turned my back on working in science just because I couldn’t wear the gloves.
It’s friend Deborah’s birthday party later today, and she’s celebrating her eighteenth. It’s not gonna be rowdy—we’ll go to Crankpots on Whyte and paint some pottery, then go back to her house and watch some movies and play Rock Band for a while. No one’s going to be getting wasted, and it’s not going to be a crazy house party. It’s just calm, innocent fun—my favourite.
There’s the whole “try alcohol for the first time when you become legal!” thing (eighteen years old in Alberta), but to be honest I think it’s a li’l overrated. People are usually insistent on the presence of alcohol at parties and then it’s brought out and they don’t know their limits and they get hammered out of their minds and then the sober people (comme moi) have got to take care of them. Do I sound bitter? I’m not bitter. Not bitter. NOT BITTER.
Anyway, I’m sure alcohol’s all well and good if people Know Their Limits. But it poses a bit of an issue when people overestimate their abilities (I might note here that it was ONLY THE GUYS who did this) and end up getting really, really, really sick, which makes them a liability that the rest of us have got to look after. My mom told me once that I didn’t have to take care of people at parties, but I feel like I’m obligated to??? I mean, I’m totally sober and everyone else is smashed. What is someone going to do if they’re sick and they can’t get around on their own and they’re throwing up everywhere, on everyone, all over everything? I feel like it’s my duty as a good friend to come to the rescue. Granted, sometimes I’d prefer that someone else took the reins, and I’d really prefer if people knew how much alcohol they could ingest without having to barf up all their internal organs. But in the end my conscience always overrules my disgust with vomit.
Still gross, though.
I’m not against alcohol—let me make that clear—but seriously, guys. KNOW YOUR LIMITS. (This could also be applied to calculus.) *runs away*