Mixture of the pop song from the radio and the ventilation noise from the tissue culture hood fills the air of a small, rectangular-shaped room. The most precious tool within the laboratory, the pipette, was firmly-held in his left hand while various other flasks, tubes, containers were shifted intensively. Hands gloved and labcoated, Justin had been manipulating the cancerous cells since the crepuscular hours. The cells had to be grown in a sterile environment – confined within plastics or glasses – the living conditions tantamount to those endured by the Bubble Boy1. His nose inadvertently came in contact with the window glass of the hood, leaving a spot of sebum that partially blurred the vision, forcing him to abandon whatever he held within the hood to clear up the spot with 70% ethanol.
One year ago before I came to CERN I had no idea what the Higgs boson was, I thought a wormhole is where birds are sent to when they die and Quark is a kind of food I like. I thought life was the biggest concoction of coincidental and wicked confusion, until one day someone tried to explain the string theory to me.