In the Name of Science

Yesterday, at the climax of my anger rolls, I popped into the Cathedral bathroom. There, hanging above my toilet selection, was a flyer seeking people aged 21-28 who would be willing to consume alcohol in the name of science and in exchange for $60.

I sighed deeply and decided I would sacrifice myself for this important research. I phoned the lab and learned the details of the study. They were examining the effects of booze on social drinkers. Would I be willing to drink vodka with cranberry juice? Could I do it at ten in the morning on Wednesday? Could I fill out a survey and take a breathalizer test? Yes, yes I could.

The only thing that seems unsettling is they told me I am three pounds above the weight cutoff for my height. "But I have muscles," I told them. "I can fax you a photo of my shoulder muscles, which look quite nice after hauling around boxes and operating power tools for the past month." He chuckled his science-voice chuckle and told me I might make the error margin cut. If I show up there and I'm too fat to drink, they'll still give me $5. How nice.

I am quite eager next week to explore this scientific experiment. I am very interested indeed to head down this journey and help the world learn the effects of alcohol on the social drinker. Here is my hypothesis:

The subject (me) will consume three glasses of vodka with cranberry juice. She will start to giggle a little and drip some juice on her shirt. She might start to sing and will certainly sway a bit in her seat, noticing how hilarious it is to wear lab coats and administer tests to people drinking booze in the morning. She will leave the lab and squint into the morning sun and arrive at work just in time for the football kiddos with just enough of a buzz to deal with their whining.