Wednesday, January 24, 2007

The Scientific Method

As utilized in "The Case of the Vagabond Smell."

Having been utilized by many brilliant thinkers down through the yellowed pages of history, the Scientific Method seems to me to be a worthy recipient of my attention and study. Perhaps someday I shall be famous because of my groundbreaking discoveries. Perhaps someday I shall be in grave danger and be required to make quick, logical deductions based on evidence in order to preserve my health and happiness. Or perhaps I shall remain an ordinary Jane, and continue to solve household problems such as the one I am about to summarize—all with the aid of the simple process we call the Scientific Method.

One fine day, when the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and everything in general was going marvelously (as all things should), I walked by the kitchen on my way to the living room. Just as I was positioned opposite the doorway into the haven of culinary imagination, I stopped. I gasped. Something horrid was singeing my ten-year-old nose. A smell of incredibly revolting magnitude was assaulting my senses, thus I made one undeniable observation: Something smells terrible. Dozens of action plans raced through my mind as I stood there, nose wrinkled, sensibilities offended. Should I dash into the kitchen and frantically throw open all the windows, doors, and all such portals? Should I call the fire department? Should I take out the garbage? Should I call my shrink? Far from giving in to hasty tactics, I calmly deduced that I must first apply what I had learned in my fifth grade science class, namely the Scientific Method.

I realized that I had already made my observation: Something smells terrible. Therefore I proceeded to the next step as outlined by my teacher. Create multiple working hypotheses. Thus I began to guess as to what could be causing the ghastly smell coming from the kitchen. First, I proposed that the garbage was in need of “taking out.” One quick glance under the sink however, confirmed that the garbage had been emptied that very morning. Next I proposed to myself, “Perhaps someone left the limburger cheese open somewhere in the kitchen.” So I searched the kitchen from top to bottom—no cheese. Each time I eliminated a hypothesis, I realized that I was in effect, joining great scientists of the pasts in the common goal of finding out why and how things work. One by one, the possibilities on my list of hypotheses were confirmed erroneous and at last I was left with one, last, lonely, guilty-looking hypothesis. Warily I made my way across the room, past the pantry, past the refrigerator, past the sink and the items under the sink, until at last I was face-to-face with the big, black oven itself. The time of reckoning had come and I was ready. Before opening the door however, I called out to my sister who was blissfully reading a book—unaware of the momentous event occurring in her very own house.

“Anna,” I said excitedly, “I’m going to propose to you my theory,” I informed her and did my best to look important. This was a difficult task seeing that I was trying to stifle my giggles at the expression of disgust on her face and her fingers carefully pinching her nose shut. “You will notice that something smells terrible. I have been employed for the past half-hour, utilizing the Scientific Method in order to discover the source of this dreadful vagabond smell. After much careful experimentation, I am certain that there could only be one possible guilty party: the oven! I declare to you my trusted sister, my theory that the oven contains something simply ghastly.” She nodded, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. With a flourish I tossed open the oven door and bowed ceremoniously before the awed gaze of my big sister who would have clapped except that she was pinching her nose. There, in the oven, melted through the tray and dripping all the way to the bottom of the oven, was a mess of broccoli, cheese, rice, chicken, and plastic bowl, with a few bits of foil thrown in (for flavor no doubt). My theory was correct, and I walked out of my mother’s kitchen nearly bursting with pride at my use of the grand thing they call the Scientific Method.

Note: This essay was assigned for my Geology class. Don't believe a word of it--I seriously doubt that I gave the Scientific Method a second thought when I was ten years old.

13 comments:

sarah said...

No doubt you borrowed heavily from the incident of the Broiled Popcorn. Note to readers: don't ever turn on the oven without looking inside it first - there may be a Tupperware bowl filled with leftover popcorn inside, having been thrust hastily into the oven and then left overnight. BTW, Tupperware melts into a disgusting substance that is almost impossible to remove from oven racks.

Gloria said...

*laughing* So why was a tupperware bowl in the oven anyway? :)

Mike said...

I beleived it right to the end, Where you dashed all the flowery visions I had in my head of you being smart and using resonable logic to come to a conclusion. Maybe I will just ingnore the last part.

Anonymous said...

Rebekah, you are just hilarious!

Little Wolf said...

Wow! What imagery and realism! And to find out it wasn't a true story...THAT is creative genius!

Anonymous said...

Well....actually the popcorn in the tupperware bowl incident was real!! Beka's Dad left it in the oven (a quick place to keep the bugs away, I guess) and Beka's Mom was not in the habit of checking the oven before turning it on (does anyone do that?!). The smell was atrocious, I assure you!! LOL

Gloria said...

No I don't generally make it a habit to look in the oven before turning it on... But I might want to in the future.

Anonymous said...

Oh Beks... You had me going, until I thought to myself, "Wait, Anna's not home right now - she must be up to something..."(Narrows her eyes suspiciously) I think I shall be careful of my oven in future times as well.

Rebekah said...

Sorry to dissapoint. I'm a writer, not a scientist. As such I have the freedom and ability to do and say whatever I will while utilizing--no not the scientific method--the English language. Ah, such freedom and imagination found stored in 26 simple letters! :)

Anna said...

Did you leave me to clean it up! How very unscientific of you! But it was devious! And I'm afraid I don't believe you described my character very well. If you did that to me when you were 10, I would have been 16 and would not have listened to you (especially if you talked like that) much less follow you into the kitchen!

Rebekah said...

Purely fantasy my dear sister. Did you not sense the irony in those lines:
"[I] bowed ceremoniously before the awed gaze of my big sister who would have clapped except that she was pinching her nose."

Of course I was portraying this story through the subjective point-of-view of a little sister's wishings. Wishings are never truthful. :)

Crystal said...

This was funny and made me laugh because I could almost imagine the smell having partially melted a few things myself. I always check the oven before I turn it on because we use it as storage for fying pans and the like and you never know when a pancake turner has been left in a pan or even if one of the pans has a plastic handle. Not sure if handles smell as bad as tupperware but they are quite unpleasent.

Mark said...

I think one of the above commenters also left a crocheted hot-pad in the oven...started on fire. Still used it after it was crispy (it was nice and thick).

Then there was the doughnuts on the stove...ehem *whistles*