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Zyxomma's avatar

When I was a kid, my dad worked with toxic chemicals (he was a color engineer and color chemist in -- you guessed it, plastics). Before that, he worked in paint. This was before OSHA (he died in 1968), and he'd scrub his hands after work to remove the resin dyes from under his fingernails and mutter, "This stuff's gonna kill me." It basically collapsed his circulatory system, and combined with diabetes, made it so.

My mother loved cleaning house with toxic, caustic chemicals. I nearly died when she told me to throw some bleach into the kitchen sink, having forgotten that she ALREADY HAD ammonia in the drain. I saw the cloud of chlorine gas rising, and got the fuck out of there (did choke just a bit).

Chemical safety is paramount. I'm glad I left Houston 16 months after arriving there. Haven't set foot in TX since. Left in 1976, and returned home to NYC, where we have some nice weather.

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SeeTrain65's avatar

"So let me pick at its bones and see what I can steal."

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