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Chemistry practical
May. 20th, 2004 12:23 pmIt was awful. It was so awful. I couldn't find my labcoat, to begin with, as the upper common room has been given over to the GCSE art exhibition, and I was eventually informed that it would be in the big massive binbag in the kitchen. So there's me rooting through it looking for anything remotely resembling my labcoat, and amidst all the confusion no-one knew when and where we were going to be registered.
Turned out we weren't being registered at all. In the end, we were split up into the alphabetical groups and herded into the labs. As we stepped through the door, everyone was attempting to catch someone else's eye and mouth no burettes!
It wasn't a titration. After four years of its being a titration every year, and our practice practicals throughout the year being ninety-nine percent titrations, it wasn't one. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
It was in fact a set of ion tests, which you're supposed to do and not understand (you lose marks if you attempt to identify the ions) and I sat down at my bench, took a deep breath and began. I had a system. I swear I had a system. I had the right number of pipettes and everything. I had them all lined up. I labelled my test-tubes A, B, C, D and E. I had a system.
Then I dropped a pipette. My hands were shaking, I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again the pipette had rolled on top of a pile of pipettes. I didn't have any idea which one it was. I guessed. And guessed wrong, as it turned out. My beautiful clear colourless bottle of Solution D went bright custard yellow. I think I sat there for about five minutes, staring at the contaminated bottle, before Mrs Williams (yes, she was invigilating) took pity on me and gave me a new bottle, thus losing me lots 'n' lots of marks (and there are only eight available for this section anyway).
I did calm down eventually. I cleared some space happily enough and settled down to write an analysis. I was doing quite well - all those past papers I did yesterday were a definite blessing - when something dawned on me. You see, I do past papers in pencil. People have commented on this tendency of mine before now - when I can avoid writing in pen, I will.
So there I was, having written half the damn thing already, when I remembered one of the many Dante-esque warnings inscribed on the front cover - work in pencil will not be marked.
Shit. I had to spent the next twenty minutes rubbing out and re-writing.
It's amazing I didn't run out of time, now I come to think of it. I'm horribly conscious of the fact this may be because I couldn't think of anything to write for the planning section - they wanted you to establish and confirm the molar ratio when strontium reacts with dilute hydrochloric acid, and I wrote some very vague description of collecting gas and assuming the volume of one mole of gas was 24 decimetres cubed and such. I did draw a diagram, and couldn't remember the name of the little thingy you push the tube through. I kept on wanting to call it a honeycomb for some reason.
That was one thing I did get right - I remembered in time that it's called a beehive shelf.
The last thing on the paper is always detailing potential hazards and safety precations. Strontium and hydrogen are flammable, it said. I was tired and sick of it, and wrote, "As strontium and hydrogen are flammable, I will not set fire to them."
When it was over, I seemed to be the only one to have suffered quite so many trials and tribulations. Mrs Miller was invigilating us during the last hour, and it was better having one of my own teachers around (I always think Mrs Williams is out to get me). She (Miller, that is) laughed at me when I stood up. "I thought you'd never start writing," she said. "I kept on thinking, Iona, write something please..."
I explained my various problems. She didn't take it seriously, which was good.
And there we have it. One down, eight to go. I do hope the others are better than this.
Turned out we weren't being registered at all. In the end, we were split up into the alphabetical groups and herded into the labs. As we stepped through the door, everyone was attempting to catch someone else's eye and mouth no burettes!
It wasn't a titration. After four years of its being a titration every year, and our practice practicals throughout the year being ninety-nine percent titrations, it wasn't one. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
It was in fact a set of ion tests, which you're supposed to do and not understand (you lose marks if you attempt to identify the ions) and I sat down at my bench, took a deep breath and began. I had a system. I swear I had a system. I had the right number of pipettes and everything. I had them all lined up. I labelled my test-tubes A, B, C, D and E. I had a system.
Then I dropped a pipette. My hands were shaking, I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again the pipette had rolled on top of a pile of pipettes. I didn't have any idea which one it was. I guessed. And guessed wrong, as it turned out. My beautiful clear colourless bottle of Solution D went bright custard yellow. I think I sat there for about five minutes, staring at the contaminated bottle, before Mrs Williams (yes, she was invigilating) took pity on me and gave me a new bottle, thus losing me lots 'n' lots of marks (and there are only eight available for this section anyway).
I did calm down eventually. I cleared some space happily enough and settled down to write an analysis. I was doing quite well - all those past papers I did yesterday were a definite blessing - when something dawned on me. You see, I do past papers in pencil. People have commented on this tendency of mine before now - when I can avoid writing in pen, I will.
So there I was, having written half the damn thing already, when I remembered one of the many Dante-esque warnings inscribed on the front cover - work in pencil will not be marked.
Shit. I had to spent the next twenty minutes rubbing out and re-writing.
It's amazing I didn't run out of time, now I come to think of it. I'm horribly conscious of the fact this may be because I couldn't think of anything to write for the planning section - they wanted you to establish and confirm the molar ratio when strontium reacts with dilute hydrochloric acid, and I wrote some very vague description of collecting gas and assuming the volume of one mole of gas was 24 decimetres cubed and such. I did draw a diagram, and couldn't remember the name of the little thingy you push the tube through. I kept on wanting to call it a honeycomb for some reason.
That was one thing I did get right - I remembered in time that it's called a beehive shelf.
The last thing on the paper is always detailing potential hazards and safety precations. Strontium and hydrogen are flammable, it said. I was tired and sick of it, and wrote, "As strontium and hydrogen are flammable, I will not set fire to them."
When it was over, I seemed to be the only one to have suffered quite so many trials and tribulations. Mrs Miller was invigilating us during the last hour, and it was better having one of my own teachers around (I always think Mrs Williams is out to get me). She (Miller, that is) laughed at me when I stood up. "I thought you'd never start writing," she said. "I kept on thinking, Iona, write something please..."
I explained my various problems. She didn't take it seriously, which was good.
And there we have it. One down, eight to go. I do hope the others are better than this.
