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Thursday, May 05, 2005 

Implants Are Cool, Too Bad I Don't Have Any

I live in Silicon Valley.

What does that mean? No. It doesn’t mean that I have silicone implants. Although, that would be nice. Feel like throwing any cash my way? No? Fuck you then.

What it means is that at one point I worked in the silicon industry making wafers. Wafers look like CD’s and when we’re done with them we sell them to big companies who then cut them up into little squares and put them into your cell phone, printer, dishwasher and/or car.

I wore a bunny suit and worked in a clean room.

No. I did not have a fluffy tail and serve cocktails while trying to see over my big silicone chest. But if you would like to imagine that feel free.

Done? Ok.. Wait… I’m not done yet.

Ok. Heh. I looked cute in that bunny outfit huh? ANYWAY

I worked there for three years… long enough to get my friends employed there as well. So we could, you know, wreak havoc.

Clean rooms have to be clean. Turns out that they get cleaned by, gasp, cleaning them! FUCK. I hate cleaning shit.

So I’m cleaning shit, so is Olivia, my best friend. I think I’m in a bad mood. You know, cuz it’s work. Fuckin work. BLAH. Oh yeah, also cuz our shift starts at six a m in the GOD DAMN MORNING. It’s a twelve hour shift. We’re allowed to be pissy.

Wiping down the counter with isopropyl (rubbing alcohol) I turn to Olivia suddenly.

“You’re a midget.” She’s five foot one… maybe. Also 95 pounds so there’s no way in hell she can harm me.

“Shut up Terra”

“No. Seriously. You should join the circus. I would pay to see like a hundred of you climb into that little clown car.” Now obviously I don’t feel like cleaning.

“Terra. Fuck you.” She picks up her isopropyl bottle and sprays me.

“Umm. I’m sorry, I don’t let midgets get away with shit like that!” I wrestle the bottle out of her hand and now we are running through the clean room spraying each other. Ok…. So midgets have a pretty good grip! She might have gotten the bottle back a time or two. Or ten.

This by the way is clearly against regulation. We work with dangerous chemicals. Chemicals that melt your bones. Seriously. Chemicals that easily explode and chemicals that will eat right through your fucking clothes on contact.

But hey, we’ve worked here for years. We’ve gone to the stupid safety classes like a MILLION fucking times. We’re good.

Plus, we’re like, 21. Totally responsible. OK? So chill.

Suddenly while circling a microscope I stop.

“Hey wait a minute” I’m itching. What the fuck?

“What?” Olivia is clearly looking for her opening.

“What the fuck is in this bottle?” She sprays me before I get my hands on it. “Shit Olivia this IS NOT FUCKING ISOPROPYL!!!!!!!!”

I’m running for the exit with her close on my tail.

“Olivia, you’re supposed to clean with isopropyl!!!!!!!!!!”

“I WAS!”

“No you weren’t! You were using HYDROGEN PEROXIDE!” Olivia has the shittiest fucking eyesight ever I swear to god.

“Oh shit!”

“Don’t worry, just get your suit off as fast as possible and we’ll use the emergency cleaners.”

Ok the hydrogen peroxide you buy at the stores is a wimpy fucking momma’s boy version compared to the kind we were soaked in. By the time I get my suit off I am itching everywhere and as I tear my clothes off I can see huge patches of skin turning white.


My supervisor walks by.

“What’s going on?” Me and Olivia stand straight up.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Ok.” She eyes us suspiciously and then hands us a to do list. The whole time I am STUGGLING NOT TO SCRATCH EVERY SQUARE INCH OF MY BODY.

As soon as she leaves we run to the restroom.

We are in the public restroom and I am practically down to my underwear throwing emergency cleaner on me and trying to stick my body in the sink to wash off this Hydrogen, which is literally evaporating all of the moisture out of my skin.

Twenty minutes later we’re cool.

Olivia pulls her jeans back on.

So do I.

She goes to walk out.

I don’t.

FUCK. I’M ITCHING AGAIN. Fucking Olivia SOAKED my clothes with hydrogen! I can’t wear them! What the fuck am I going to tell my manager?

“Hey boss, I have to go home and change because I was playing with chemicals. Oh, and by the way, I started it.”

Fuck. I could go back to work naked. No, they would see my underwear through the bunny suit. I’d probably get fired for being a pervert. Fuck.

So we brainstorm in the bathroom with me in my chonies. Double fuck. I can’t stand in the bathroom naked all day. Finally we come up with a brilliant idea.

I borrow clothes from a fifty year old hippie four inches shorter than me and fifty pounds heavier.

Jesus fucking christ, I never felt smarter in my whole damn life.

(here's what a bunny suit looks like)

I actually got hit on while wearing one believe it or not.

Ha. I'm cool like that.


I worked in a lab for a while and we had to do the whole sterile environment thing for one room as well. We had to wash the hoods down with amphyl and then isopropyl alcohol. Never had a fun fight with any of the stuff.

We used the strong Hydrogen Peroxide too and had to use it under a fume hood with about 4000 lbs of safety gear on...that shit will bleach everything you own if you get it on you.

You know that grid that tells you the danger level of everything? It's diamond shaped with four colors, white, yellow, red and blue and all of the colors have a number corresponding w/how dangerous that element is? Well four is the most dangerous and we had a four on everything.

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