Alas, I'll never be a chemist
While I aced the concepts of chemisty in high school, I and my lab partner were total clods at application. I still blame the teacher, though, and here's why.

Mr. G. was one of those rumpled, bumbling sorts of high school teachers who wore polyester pants, wrinkled shirts and had crazy Harry Potter-esque black hair. His wife, a bossy, condescending type, taught eighth grade science in the same school district. I suspect she had done a lot to undermine Mr. G's confidence.

Early on in the school year I became convinced that Mr. G. was an idiot. I think it was the day he was doing calculations on the board and needed to add 2 and 3, came up with 6, realized that wasn't right, then reached for a calculator. How can you trust a man who doesn't know the difference between addition and multiplication?

One of our early lab experiments was to create hydrogen gas, collect some, then do a "pop test" to verify that it was indeed hydrogen. Mr. G. (who can't even add) told us to collect the gas in a test tube. Our lab manual said to use a gas bottle (roughly five times the volume). Debbie and I decided that Mr. G. had to be wrong, so we followed the lab manual's instruction. We easily collected our gas, then went to do the "pop test." Instead of the nice little pop our classmates were getting, we got a sonic boom. The sound echoed down the corridor, and Mr. G. went ballistic. When we sheepishly admitted to following the lab book, he just shook his head and said, "You girls!" I guess that was supposed to be the ultimate put-down.

Later in the school year, after months of no major lab incidents, we were to do an experiment that required heating a substance from above with direct flame from the bunsen burner. Mr. G. showed the class the technique at my lab station. We got set up, lit the burner, then Debbie gently lifted the burner to heat the substance. Well, the hose attaching the burner to the gas line disconnected and flame shot out of the gas line, burning Debbie up one arm. Mr. G. again went ballistic.

This time I stood my ground and told him that HE was the one who had loosened the hose during his demonstration, and that he ought to be more careful. He looked at me dumbfounded, told the rest of the class to check their hose connections, then had me take my injured lab partner to the nurse.

The really funny thing is, I took chemisty as an elective my senior year, thinking it would be interesting. Talk about going out with a bang.