I was a technician of nylon polymers. Working late as usual. All alone in the warehouse and screwing around, using random expensive precision instruments and plastic buckets as a drum kit, and rocking out. But a twisted chain of polymers kept snaking out of nowhere and coiling around my neck. I remembered how my coworkers stigmatized me for being antireligious. A pack of rabidly religious polymer technicians those fellas. A few of them would regularly work me over in a private control room, but their choice of celluloses made me laugh. I knew their bruised minds would eventually grasp the pure mathematics involved. And when I thought of Myron I was happy, until I thought of Paul, at which point I spontaneously stimulated the development of the first truly synthetic plastic. My work as a field nurse being hardly empirical, I rarely gave thought to the artificial giant molecules in my care until the housekeeping had gotten way out of hand. Then I had to fill these hydrogenated wafers with cream filling and dip them in tempered chocolate at least 23 times before I felt at all pacified. Even so, I was never satisfied with the religious proofs expounded by my tormentors, but was forced to abide by their pronouncements nonetheless, at least until the next cycle-through. Carts filled with inedible hydrogenated crumbs crowded the cells where the giant molecules were aged. I stood in the middle of the warehouse, straddling my makeshift drums, and yelled out to my supervisor: "Hydrogenated crumbs were outlawed seven cycles ago!" But he never answered me, so I satisfied myself with giving hostile replies to the thugs working me over, and hiding my face with my hand.
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