work, Joe,” I say.
“You don’t think we’ll get hung up between
steps eleven and twelve?” Joe asks.
“No. As long as the transfer isn’t rushed, I
think it’ll be just fine,” I reply. “At the very least this gives
us a great starting place.”
“Wonderful!” Joe announces. “I’ll sleep so
much better tonight knowing we have a game plan.”
“Me too!” I exclaim while doing an
abbreviated version of my happy dance. Laughing at my outrageous
disregard for decorum, the three of us turn around to address the
rest of the team who have all trickled into the conference room
over the last thirty minutes. Over the next few hours we explain
the new procedure we will be using to bring compound 253B to room
temperature and maintain stability, taking longer than necessary to
review the details of each step involved in the process and answer
any questions the team members may have. It is extremely important
everyone performs the required steps exactly the same and that they
are able to replicate the process numerous times.
In this respect, working in a lab is like
baking. When you’re inexperienced, you follow the recipe as closely
as possible so your end product will look like the pretty cake in
the example picture. Most of what we do is routine recipe work.
Once Joe, myself, and the lead chemists have developed a
procedure/recipe for stabilizing and then synthetically replicating
a compound, it can move into the testing phase.
Sometimes this process is easy and sometimes
it’s extremely difficult. What’s tough is we never know the
potential of the compounds we are dealing with. Maybe the compound
we couldn’t adequately replicate last month would have gone on to
cure cancer. That’s one of the reasons we take our failures so
seriously and exhaust every foreseeable option before throwing in
the towel.
Exiting the command center after the
conclusion of our meeting, I feel better than I have all week. Not
only have we developed a new strategy for working with compound
253B, but the team seems just as eager as I am to get started in
the morning. Riding the intellectual high, I make a quick stop by
my office to drop off some equipment before slipping out of the
building. In the parking lot, as the warmth of the late afternoon
sun embraces me, I don my black sunglasses and rock a smile all the
way home.
Chapter 10
Margie, the receptionist, must be at lunch
because no one is manning the counter in the waiting room. Mike
looks around to be sure the place is spotless, noticing the potted
plants could use watering, before proceeding across the foyer to a
large set of double doors. He softly knocks, and steps back to wait
patiently to be admitted. The possibility Mr. Taylor won’t
acknowledge him isn’t a concern; Mike knows he will see him.
But the seconds drag by, leaving Mike with
nothing to do but stare at the wood grain of the large doors. The
longer Mike stares at the door, the more obvious the smudge marks
from multiple sets of finger prints become until they are all Mike
notices. Pulling a rag from his cart, he begins to polish away the
offending fingerprints. He has just finished with the nameplate
when he is summoned:
Mr. Taylor
Preston-Ward Pharmaceuticals
CEO West Coast Office
“Come in, please,” says the muffled voice of
Mr. Taylor from beyond the outer doors. Mike enters the office and
takes a brief moment to appreciate the understated elegance of the
room. He has always had an appreciation of nice things. The quality
of the furniture and the sparse artwork around Mr. Taylor’s office
are above reproach.
“Good day, Mr. Taylor,” Mike says.
“And good day to you, Mike. What brings you
to my office this fine morning?” Mr. Taylor asks.
Mike drops his gaze to the floor for a
moment, gathering his thoughts before responding to Mr. Taylor’s
question. Looking back up into Mr. Taylor’s expectant face, Mike
begins.
“There’s been another incident, sir.”
Staring back at Mike
“You don’t think we’ll get hung up between
steps eleven and twelve?” Joe asks.
“No. As long as the transfer isn’t rushed, I
think it’ll be just fine,” I reply. “At the very least this gives
us a great starting place.”
“Wonderful!” Joe announces. “I’ll sleep so
much better tonight knowing we have a game plan.”
“Me too!” I exclaim while doing an
abbreviated version of my happy dance. Laughing at my outrageous
disregard for decorum, the three of us turn around to address the
rest of the team who have all trickled into the conference room
over the last thirty minutes. Over the next few hours we explain
the new procedure we will be using to bring compound 253B to room
temperature and maintain stability, taking longer than necessary to
review the details of each step involved in the process and answer
any questions the team members may have. It is extremely important
everyone performs the required steps exactly the same and that they
are able to replicate the process numerous times.
In this respect, working in a lab is like
baking. When you’re inexperienced, you follow the recipe as closely
as possible so your end product will look like the pretty cake in
the example picture. Most of what we do is routine recipe work.
Once Joe, myself, and the lead chemists have developed a
procedure/recipe for stabilizing and then synthetically replicating
a compound, it can move into the testing phase.
Sometimes this process is easy and sometimes
it’s extremely difficult. What’s tough is we never know the
potential of the compounds we are dealing with. Maybe the compound
we couldn’t adequately replicate last month would have gone on to
cure cancer. That’s one of the reasons we take our failures so
seriously and exhaust every foreseeable option before throwing in
the towel.
Exiting the command center after the
conclusion of our meeting, I feel better than I have all week. Not
only have we developed a new strategy for working with compound
253B, but the team seems just as eager as I am to get started in
the morning. Riding the intellectual high, I make a quick stop by
my office to drop off some equipment before slipping out of the
building. In the parking lot, as the warmth of the late afternoon
sun embraces me, I don my black sunglasses and rock a smile all the
way home.
Chapter 10
Margie, the receptionist, must be at lunch
because no one is manning the counter in the waiting room. Mike
looks around to be sure the place is spotless, noticing the potted
plants could use watering, before proceeding across the foyer to a
large set of double doors. He softly knocks, and steps back to wait
patiently to be admitted. The possibility Mr. Taylor won’t
acknowledge him isn’t a concern; Mike knows he will see him.
But the seconds drag by, leaving Mike with
nothing to do but stare at the wood grain of the large doors. The
longer Mike stares at the door, the more obvious the smudge marks
from multiple sets of finger prints become until they are all Mike
notices. Pulling a rag from his cart, he begins to polish away the
offending fingerprints. He has just finished with the nameplate
when he is summoned:
Mr. Taylor
Preston-Ward Pharmaceuticals
CEO West Coast Office
“Come in, please,” says the muffled voice of
Mr. Taylor from beyond the outer doors. Mike enters the office and
takes a brief moment to appreciate the understated elegance of the
room. He has always had an appreciation of nice things. The quality
of the furniture and the sparse artwork around Mr. Taylor’s office
are above reproach.
“Good day, Mr. Taylor,” Mike says.
“And good day to you, Mike. What brings you
to my office this fine morning?” Mr. Taylor asks.
Mike drops his gaze to the floor for a
moment, gathering his thoughts before responding to Mr. Taylor’s
question. Looking back up into Mr. Taylor’s expectant face, Mike
begins.
“There’s been another incident, sir.”
Staring back at Mike
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