trinityvixen | Ugh, I'm a glorified maid.

Yesterday, we discovered another cell line to be contaminated--severely--when we were trying to figure out why some results we got on an Ab test were so poor. Turns out this cell line is in the same incubator as the other one that I lost while my boss was on vacation (she returned yesterday in time for this new disaster). So, while contamination of the dishes was still my fault (which she somehow never fails to make known), the incubator may actually be a risk I was not prepared for (however, in my boss' speak, the contamination of the incubator is my fault--implicitly, though, which I guess counts for her version of restraint).

So, I need to autoclave the shelves and the water dish, which is no big. First, wash them with the extra-strength cleaner (akin to what Rob got from his mom, it's too dangerous for bare hands), dry thoroughly, then ethanol the crap out of them. Then autoclave. Next, the big project: the incubator itself. This wouldn't be so bad if I could take all day on it, but I was not able to turn off the gas to the one incubator without turning it off to both. I could move whoever's stuff is in the second one, but I doubt I could communicate this to the Chinese guy who is an all-around clean-up guy.

(side note: that's right, the guy they trust to make sterile solutions, have the keys to all the rooms, check the hoods and incubators, and take out the trash, speaks only halting English and tried to give me a red garbage bag when I asked for soap. ::groans:: I'm amazed I managed to procure the keys off him for the autoclave room.)

Knee-deep in incubator, gas still on, I'm inhaling strong chemical cleaner fumes for about ten minutes, then rinsing, rinsing, rinsing as best I can with wetted towels ('cause you can't use water cascades like at the sink), and then comes the ethanol. Which has now certainly singed my soft tracheal tissues because I can feel a sore patch along my airway when I breathe. God, it burned, and I had to get it done fast and with my nose in the incubator to reach the back.

With my luck, my boss will come back and say she wanted to clean the incubator out herself, thus denigrating my efforts and giving me serious, unneeded injuries, or complications at the very least, for no reason. Look for me on the news, I may just commit homicide. I was never the type to commit suicide, so I'll take her out instead.