I want my Mummy!
I am a teacher; a tweed-clad, chalk-dusted wrangler of the tiny-humans. I teach science, which means that at occasional, brief intervals between cups of coffee, I have opportunity, means, and motive to set things on fire for the delight and betterment of the next generation of mankind.

Occasionally, however, there is the opportunity to string together several of these 'demonstrations' into something even more exciting. It was science week, and I had planned a lunchtime of explosions to entertain the masses and enthuse them if the joys of the subject. A dozen dutiful little nerdlings arrived, and I began light things on fire.

'Ooooh!' They say, as the first demo happens. 'That was a hot one!' I quip, hilariously.

'Aaaaaah!', they coo. As various miniature-sized delights spew steam across the desk. 'Nearly got me that time!', I yell, at a volume needlessly elevated for the small crowd.

And so we continue at this game for a little while. The room gradually fills with smoke, and my reputation grows as master of all things fiery and dangerous. So confident was I, that when I go to set off my last explosion of the session, I forget about the rather fragile and less-than-fire-retardant nature of my fingers. The explosion (a displacement reaction involving magnesium and copper oxide, for those interested in recreating my misery accurately) lights up the desk, and leaves me with second degree burns on my finger and thumb.

'Ow!' I shout, desperately fighting the urge to unload the most violently cuntitudinous and visceral swearing. 'Hahaha!', laugh the children. 'No, seriously!', I mutter, through gritted teeth, 'I think I might be actually hurt!'. 'Hahaha, good one, Sir!', they cry.

It takes nearly a full minute, before I convince one of them to go and fetch a proper, responsible adult. I spend the rest of the day cursing gently in front of vastly unsympathetic ranks of bored teenagers, and the rest of the week with my finger and thumb bandaged up like a poorly mummified lobster.

I love my job.
(Serotonicity was a naughty boy on..., Thu 1 Aug 2013, 20:52, 2 replies)

Caveat......
..ignitur!
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Fri 2 Aug 2013, 10:34, closed)

Fucking kevlar gloves...
...for fuck's sake. That shit's stable to 300C and an effective insulator, your skin's not. Even leather welder's gauntlets can be had for £5 from crap DIY shops.
(squigbobble existed, Tue 6 Aug 2013, 11:36, closed)