Pulling A Carl

When I lived in Ogden I had a roommate named Carl. He was, for lack of a better description, the unluckiest person I've ever known. He was always having strange, unexpected, and unlikely things happening to him. Some of it was of his own doing, but a lot of it was just random stuff—things like his 5000 Calorie a day metabolism, or having his bicycle stolen twice within a month, or having an accident in a borrowed car while driving up Provo Canyon to get stuff out of his own car that had broken down and had to be abandoned. Strange stuff.

One of the more memorable occurrences came late one night at the house we were living in. He'd been on the computer and decided to make some beans for a late supper. He'd got the beans to a boil, then turned the heat down to let them simmer for the requisite 90 minutes or so. Back to the computer he went—and forgot about the beans. A couple of hours later, he remembered and ran back to the now smoke-filled kitchen to find that the water had boiled off, the beans had been reduced to elemental carbon, and the aluminum pan had begun to melt to the burner. Nothing had caught fire, fortunately, but airing out the kitchen was something we pretty much all had to endure at around 2:30 that morning. We all gave him particular hell for that.

The reason I mention all of this, of course, is that I did almost exactly the same thing this afternoon.

Last night, while cooking chicken nuggets we brought home from the local grocery store, I made myself some honey-mustard dip. After adding the Grey Poupon, I discovered that the honey was about 2/3 crystallized. I was reminded of this again this afternoon as I helped myself to the leftovers as a snack. So I put the honey in a pan of gently boiling water. When I checked it after five minutes or so, I found that it still wasn't totally decrystallized, so I put it back.

Then I made my way back to my computer to check on an e-mail from my Master's program mentor. And then I checked on a couple of other things, which led to still other things. Before I knew it, 45 minutes or so had passed and I was smelling smoke. Sure enough, the water had boiled dry and the plastic honey bottle had completely melted, mixing with its contents to produce something like a frothy, black witches' brew. I took the pan outside, where its contents cooled into a smoky-sweet smelling polymerized lump.

I've had all the windows in the house open for the last hour or so with fans strategically placed to blow the smoke out. It's still a little smoky in here, especially in the kitchen. And it's chilly, too—after temperatures in the 60°-70° range for much of the last two weeks, we had rain last night and rain mixed with snow today. We have ward choir practice tonight in just over an hour. We'll be eating out beforehand. Then we'll come back to our cold, smoky house and settle down for the night.

I feel like such an idiot.

Given the flak I gave Carl when he did this, I guess today's event is either karma or an unusual application of the Law of Conservation of Angular Momentum: What goes around, comes around. At least, like my old roomie, I didn't set the place on fire.

Carl, wherever you are, I owe you an apology.