I work where they used to cut open the bodies.

Really.

I discovered something enlightening while sharing a beer with labmates the other day. Ever since joining this outfit we call an Open-Plan Collaborative Lab, I've wondered why the sinks look like trough urinals one would find at Red Sox stadium, rather than, well- sinks.

I have to give you some back story first. If you've been keeping up-to-date, you'll recall that I was supposed to arrive in a totally renovated state-of-the-art lab space. I actually arrived to find half the lab in a semi-demolished state, lacking even a sub-floor, let alone electrical wiring or anything that resembled a lab. The entire workgroup worked in the remaining space that was transported from 1980's Soviet Russia and plunked down in the middle of Paris. This is what science is like in France, I thought? Exposed pipes, glass-topped benches, old-style metal centrifuges that made a god-awful noise--this was a far cry from the modern conveniences described by my boss before I decided to move to another continent in the pursuit of science (and adventure, I'll admit).

Well, I'm leaving the lab and the construction is still unfinished. Sure, we moved into the newly-renovated main space, but it took another 6 months for them to install the shelving and drawers we needed. I still wear a hat and gloves at my desk when the weather turns cool, since there's a huge hole all around the window where it joins the wall. I mean, the lab itself is pretty gorgeous but as soon as you step in the hallway and see the filth and smell the urine and stench of homeless people that take shelter in the building, you realize that working in Harlem in New York City wasn't too bad in comparison.

The bathrooms are the best part, if you've got a twisted sense of humor like yours truly. One john functions as as darkroom for developing westerns. Convenient if you have to take a piss while exposing yourself, er- I mean your film. The other bathroom is mixed, but picture a truck stop off I-75 with hospital-style tiling, rather than the posh mixed toilets replete with dancing co-workers made infamous in Ally McBeal. And funny enough, the sinks are actually big enough to wash a body in, which is what they used to be used for. I learned while drinking that beer that our floor used to be Anatomy and Autopsy for the biggest hospital in Paris. I now chuckle each time I wash my hands in the stadium sized trough sinks, happy in the knowledge that my days in this place are numbered.