Watching "Heathers" on the plane ride back to Pittsburgh, I was reminded of my own history of explosions at school...

It was Sophomore year of high school, and I was in Honors Physics. We were learning all about gasses and pressure, by way of two-liter soda bottles, water, and pieces of dry ice. The demonstration involved filling the bottle one fourth of the way with water, and slipping in a few pieces of dry ice and replacing the cap, so we could see and feel the pressure in the bottle rise as the dry ice went from solid to gaseous carbon dioxide. After it dissolved, we would unscrew the caps and hear the fizz of the escaping gas.

In true experimentary fashion, my lab partner Jason and I wanted to take it further: If a little bit of dry ice caused a little bit of pressure, what would a lot of dry ice do? This was high school, a time of experimentation, so there wasn't anything to do but give it a whirl!

Add a little more water so there's less air volume to compress, put in a few more chunks of dry ice, then a few more. Screw the cap on. Tight. Wait a bit... Shake the bottle slightly, accelerating the evaporation.

Watching the little white bubbles rising from the chunks of ice, we tapped the side of the bottle with a fingernail. The way the pitch of the taps kept rising reminded me of the elevator scene in "Ghostbusters" when they turned on the proton packs.

We quickly realized we put in too much dry ice. It was still bubbling away and we were rapidly approaching the maximum tolerance of the bottle. Sitting there on the desk it looked so innocent, but the slight bowing of the sides of the bottle belied quiet yet formidable pressure. Jason and I looked at each other, and at the other kids in the class who were oblivious to our little extracurricular experiment.

"Should we loosen the cap?"

"There's a lot of pressure. It might be dangerous."

"What should we do?"

"We've got to take it outside."

"The bathroom."

"Good idea."

"I'll go," Jason said.

He picked up the bottle. Gingerly. Recognizing it for the bomb that it had quickly become. Relying on skills learned from countless films, he kept the bottle steady as he smoothly and quickly made his way to the door, down the deserted hallway, past the banks of lockers, toward the bathroom about sixty feet away.

As he ducked out the door I breathed a sigh of relief, not knowing until moments later that my exhaultive exhilation was premature.

...

BOOM

...

So in high school I had this problem (hah, who am I kidding? Like I'm any better now...) where drama and comedy always took precedence over restraint and pragmatism. The smart Kevin would have acted surprised. The pragmatic Kevin would have run out, concerned for Jason. Unfortunately those Kevins weren't around back then, and as the huge subsonic rumble shaking the building was still echoing amidst the clink of beakers jostling on their bases, the dramatic Kevin bolted for the door, yelling "It worked!!!"

...to be continued...