Another Day

Today’s another day and another day brings another set of problems. Another set of problems brings another series of headaches. More headaches mean more aspirin. The thought clicked across his mind like an LED crawl. Donning the white lab coat he brushed off imaginary dirt with the back of his right hand. Reaching for the clipboard he brought it to within an inch of his bulbous nose. The lenses of the thick (we called them Coke Bottles in the good old days) glasses magnified his eyes to look surreal.

Nimrod Ostinnate read the instructions as the thin lips of his tiny mouth formed the words. Glasses were perched atop plump cheeks that threatened to spill into jowls. He wore one day’s facial growth of sandy blond hair as fine and wispy as the disheveled clump of hair on his head. When he walked, it was more like a waddle, the tousle moved like sea grass in a gentle breeze. Nimrod’s humpty dumpty shape carried black pants too short to hide the white socks he wore with battle scarred black shoes. The wax laces of the shoes danced as he waddled. They had been tied only and that was the first day he wore them. His white button down shirt enjoyed an encore performance. Nimrod wore the same shirt all week. By Friday the collar would sport a thick film of body oil.

White light poured from the overhead florescent fixtures. Stark white floor, walls and ceiling contrasted the brushed aluminum tables and shelving. A wall of windows, counter height to ceiling, looked out onto the dawn of the day. Nimrod was usually the first post-doctoral student to arrive. He liked watching the day dawn; refusing to allow the white blinds to temper the encroachment of nature’s eye.

The sweeping cursive handwriting held the instructions for his everyday laboratory routine.  He moved the clipboard up as his head moved down slowly in counterweight. Checking each of the vials he jotted the progress of each experiment. His hand shook from the aftereffects of the drug that counteracted the heavy dose of sleeping pills he took to sleep. Lifting one of the beakers he placed it on the stand before lighting the Bunsen burner.  Pouring liquid into the glass container he connected the test tubes to travel tubes using rubber stoppers. When he completed the intricate network he stood back admiring science’s version of an erector set.

Turning his attention to the caged animals he observed their reaction to the prescribed stimuli.  As he observed the white mice in their cages he felt the beginning of a headache. On the job three months Nimrod fought the urge to release the research specimens. As he moved from cage to cage he wanted to sweep the entire tangle of tubes, beakers and test tubes onto the floor. He practiced controlled breathing to overcome the destructive urge. He reminded himself that once he completed his research work, published a few papers and earned an academic research position he would begin his quest to change science.

Checking his watch he expected his boss, the principal investigator, in thirty minutes. Replacing the clipboard on the hook above the cluttered desk Nimrod focused on the uneven piles of papers that flanked the large computer monitor. Switching on the monitor he typed his user name and password. The computer thought for a moment before springing to life. Launching the access program Nimrod typed with his index fingers, flying over the keyboard. He glanced up from the keyboard between commands watching as each program launched; accompanied by a banner screen.

When he had all of the programs open he moved from one to the other executing commands after modifying code based on his research.  Checking his watch he had twenty minutes. Grabbing his lab notebook he flipped to the pages that held the product of the prior evening’s research. Scanning the chemical combinations he compared the molecule chains to what was displayed on the computer monitor. Changes the molecule configurations on the first program he saved the changes. Nimrod repeated the process on each of the open programs before verifying the changes, saving them one last time and closing the programs.

At the top of the hour the principal investigator walked into the lab. Grabbing the lab notebook he flipped through the pages until he located the information. The PI looked down his beak-like nose; the reading glasses perched at the tip of the hook. Combing the fingers of his left hand through the long gray mane he tapped a size 11 shoe at the end of a gangly leg. His brown eyes burned a hole in Nimrod’s forehead as the PI searched his assistant for an explanation.

“This isn’t exactly how I would have structured the molecule.” The PI said. Nimrod felt his blood pressure rising.

“I wasn’t finished with the research. That was just one string; there are other alternatives that I want to explore before putting any configurations into play.”

“You will show them to me before taking this process any further.” The PI’s voice was strong, almost forbidding. Nimrod felt his shoulders slump against his will. Taking the notebook that the PI had slammed shut on the desk Nimrod retreated to the lab bench across the room. Pulling open the drawer of the bench he tapped his fingers on the lab notebook that held the configurations that he fed into the computer moments earlier. He had swapped lab notebooks just prior to his boss’ arrival.

As the newly constructed chemical compositions were being manufactured, Nimrod thought about the implications. The Phase III clinical trial through which the experimental drug would be administered was scheduled for a week from today. Nimrod considered whether he would be able to control the anticipation. The PI had forged the Phase II test results; disposing of the animals that had been killed by the dosing protocol. Nimrod’s formulaic changes to the Phase III drug’s composition would even the playing field; killing three human subjects for every animal subject that died.

The principal investigator refused to acknowledge any culpability for the animals’ deaths. He threatened Nimrod with termination of his research contract if he breathed a word of the altered test results. Nimrod knew that reporting the irregularities would create a long and drawn out investigation perching a dark cloud of suspicion over him for being complicit.  He had no choice but to disgrace his boss in a way that would be irreparable. That would allow him to slip away while the investigation’s spotlight was trained away from him.

Getting even was one thing that he could check off his list. The headache that threatened to kill