Commander Cream's Adventures in Stupidity #2

In middle school, our science classes mostly consisted of learning random facts and parroting them back to our teachers. The one fact that actually stayed with me seemed entirely useless at the time: table salt is NaCl, or sodium chloride. When would I ever need to know that?

Three years later:

My sophomore chemistry teacher was showing us how sodium violently reacts with water. It was enthralling. I've always had a special place in my heart for explosives. I wasn't really paying attention to anything but the little explosions, but I heard one of my classmates ask about salt- sodium chloride, and why it's safe. Long story short, my teacher suggested that the only way to get sodium metal from table salt would be to run a strong electrical current through it- and who would do that?

Well, I would.

Now, you think that I would think it all the way through. Salt doesn't just contain sodium, it also contains chlorine. After a rather spectacular sequence two years previous, my eighth grade science class had managed to get our entire wing evacuated after producing chlorine gas, so I knew the dangers. But I rarely think things out that far in advance.

My intro to engineering class had taught me about currents. My siblings had taught me to wait until everyone was out of the house. So, after the rest of my family went off to a soccer tournament, I calmly walked into the garage and set up my homemade elemental sodium production unit. I flipped the switch. Nothing happened. As I looked down into the bowl feeling cheated and betrayed by science, the current suddenly arced. The lights went off. I had blown a circuit. But rather more importantly, some of the NaCl degraded, producing a nice cloud of chlorine gas. Toxic chlorine gas. I'm still not quite sure what happened, but the miniscule amount of sodium metal I produced chose that moment to explode.

Here's a lesson, kids: when you produce a toxic gas, don't inhale! Alas for me, I had not learned that lesson yet. So, blinded by the miniature explosion, I inhaled and immediately started choking. Fortunately, my innate stupidity was countered by my body’s instincts. I had only breathed enough to slightly hurt my upper respiratory tract., rather than the lungful I was trying to inhale. Now, the smart move would have been to call 911, poison control or my parents. But I have never enjoyed calling any of those groups. Instead, I staggered around, dismantled my system and removed any trace of my foray into chemical explosives. To this day, my parents believe that a lightning strike blew out our fuse box. They also believe that sometime in my sophomore year of high school, I suffered a rather painful bout with bronchitis. Note to self- do not let parents read this.

I would like to claim that I have never again ventured into the realm of impromptu chemistry experiments, but well, that would be a lie.