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Using a tongs, she removed the glass from its lead sleeve, then poured the beaker's contents (247.3 ml) into the sink. "What was that?" I asked. "One of the Mösknvorr preparations," she answered, "K-Series, I think." Queinrhylliam-301. Enriched. (So...) "Two thousand dollars of radioactive isotopes down the drain?" She shrugged, without looking up, "I'll flush it with plenty of water." (Yeah, that made sense. But...) "I'm more concerned about our budget." And she looked at me. "Well, I didn't really know what was in there," she explained, "They were mixed up." (Oh.) And she rearranged the metal cylinders again, carefully pushing each one into line with a gloved hand. "This is critical now," squinting at those worn markings etched into the sides. (Is that a seven or a nine?) I thought for a moment, "Mixed up. So that means..." And she took a deep breath, "Yeah. I already dumped the other stuff." (So...) "Four thousand dollars of isotopes?" No... "Seven," she corrected. "The Erlenmeyer flask was contaminated. (Possibly.) I dumped it." And she shrugged again, "Don't worry. We're not NIH funded." No, but... "The Erlenmeyer was Class 4." (Wasn't it?) "Well," she said, "it's in the acid bath now." And the drain... "Flushed. With plenty of water."
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