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This is a book for the activity that Geminigem is hosting on her forum. |
| Ethanol is the least poisonous form of alcohol. Unfortunately Fred, an alcoholic who had just hired a sober companion, wasn't aware of this fact. Two days ago, Fred's sober companion, Mike, had dumped all his malt liquor, whiskey and plain old beer down the sink. There was nothing left but rubbing alcohol in the house. "Drying up is absolutely ghastly," Fred whinged. "I wish my Uncle John hadn't stipulated giving up drinking." The long suffering Mike tried to keep a neutral tone. "He had a good reason," he said. "I'm sure he wanted you to enjoy life. That and not spend all your money on spirits." "How am I supposed to enjoy life sober?" Fred retorted. "It's so boring." "There are loads of things you can do without alcohol," Mike countered. "You could take a walk, stream movies, play a game. The only limit is your imagination." Fred groaned, his withdrawal symptoms were more than he could bear. "Then I imagine I'll have myself a bath," he said. He stomped down the hall and slammed the bathroom door. Inside the porcelain tiled chamber Fred felt a little bad for lying. Still, he needed a drink. There had to be mouthwash or something. He opened up the medicine cabinet and peered inside. Isopropyl Alcohol 90% the label on the rectangular bottle read. It had to be mostly liquor Fred told himself, good for getting drunk fast. Just what he needed. Fred took two and a half mouthfuls. He grimaced as it burned his tongue. It tasted sharp, astringent and disgusting. "Never doing that again," Fred mumbled as he screwed the cap back on. Suddenly it felt like his head was spinning like the fan blades on a hot engine. Fred's stomach twisted in on itself "Mike—" His next words would've been "help me" if they hadn't been cut off by a large stream of vomit. Mike didn't waste time knocking. He only did a brief scan of the room before dialing emergency services. His face blanched when he saw the bottle on the counter. "My name is Mike Dawson," he said. "I'm a sober companion. My client just swallowed some rubbing alcohol...yes...no he's still conscious...right I'll get him to the ER right away." A few hours later. A hospital nurse came out into the waiting room. Mike looked anxiously at her as she walked up. "Mr. Dawson?" she asked. "Yes" "Fred seems to be doing fine," the nurse said. "We've given him some grain alcohol. His body should get rid of the rubbing alcohol soon." Mike didn't even respond. He'd failed his job. Maybe he never should've given up on being a yoga instructor. "Will he be able to go home soon?" Mike asked. The nurse smiled, showing tall teeth and ruby colored lipstick. "Of course," she said. "We'll be bringing him out shortly." Fred moaned as they wheeled him out the double doors. He held a disposable ice pack to his forehead. Fred glared at Mike, sending metaphorical death rays in the sober companion's direction. "Drive me home," he said. "Then pack up your things. You're fired." "You had one slip up," Mike said. "I'll get rid of anything you might be tempted by when we get home. I promise." Fred found even more malice to throw in Mike's direction. "I don't care!" Mike shouted. "My Uncle John and his money can go to hell for all I care. I'm done with sobriety, it's killing me." The entire car ride back, Mike contemplated whether Downward Facing Dog or Child's Pose was a more appropriate position to meditate on the end of his short lived sober companion career. Never in all his past lives would Mike have guessed someone could be dumb enough to try to get drunk off Isopropyl. He thought everyone knew that was poisonous. That was why people used it on cuts for crying out loud. Then again not everyone double majored in organic chemistry and philosophy. Curiosity was killing Mike. "Fred," he said. "Did you ever go to college?" "What and waste four years of my life?" Fred snorted. "I learned a trade. Used my hands, became a mechanic like my dad. Didn't need a useless '-ology' degree for that." Well now Fred's choice of poison made more sense. His ignorance probably led to most of his bad decisions. Mike packed his suitcase back at the house. Once his yoga mat was rolled up, he slung it over one shoulder. He turned to Fred as the older gentleman held the door for him. "Sorry things didn't work out," Mike said. "If you change your mind, here's my card." Fred took the proffered square of paper and ripped it in two. He threw the pieces to the floor. "Get out! Now!" What a toxic personality. It was probably for the best Mike was leaving. This couldn't be good for his psyche. Mike drove to his apartment. When he got home, he turned on the electric kettle and made himself a soothing cup of green tea. Once he finished this beverage, he rolled out his yoga mat on the living room floor. Taking deep cleansing breaths, Mike did a head to toe scan of his chakras. He found several knots had formed in his shoulders and neck. Mike willed the stressed muscles to relax. He needed to cleanse the spiritual toxins from his aura. Once he was satisfied his spiritual energy was back the way it needed to be, Mike went over to his desk and started studying his introductory organic chemistry book. He turned to the section about enantomers. An illustration caught his eye. "10.1 chemistry in medicine," The caption below two complex yet mirror image molecular drawings read. "The pain killer ibuprofen is one half of a set of enantomers. While one form is therapeutic, the other is toxic to human kidneys and liver. They can only be produced in a mixture. Scientists have yet to find a way to separate these two molecules from one another." Mike was fascinated. This illustration was something that could be part of his thesis. Filtering out poison with a molecular sieve would be a game changer. |
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