Today, we’re bring you two stories about feeling trapped -- whether it’s at the border, or in the aftermath of an acid spill. Both of these stories were recorded live at our recent Proton Prom event on June 3.
Part 1: When Kimberly Chao begins her internship, she doesn’t expect to end up covered in acid!
Kimberly Chao is a walrus. Or rather, she is known to play with her food and make a walrus face. Professionally, she manages investment portfolios and teaches financial literacy. Kimberly was also the champion of Story Collider’s first Super Collider science storytelling competition, and you can find her original story here.
Part 2: When Saad Sarwana is detained at the airport after Sept. 11, he tries to prove that he’s a physicist.
Saad Sarwana is a physicist and stand-up comedian. As a physicist he works in superconductor and microwave electronics and is the author of over 40 peer reviewed publications and the inventor behind two US patents. As a comedian he has been doing standup and Improvisational comedy for over 20 years, and even won a Moth StorySlam. For 6 years and over 100 episodes Saad was on the Science Channel TV show “Outrageous Acts of Science”. He is also the creator and host of the 'Science Fiction and Fantasy Spelling Bee'. He has told several stories previously for Story Collider.
Story Transcripts
Story 1: Kimberly Chao
I'm 19. I'm halfway through college and it's summertime, so I come home to Georgia. Thank you. I come home to Georgia, I'm interning at this startup and they give me a blowtorch, this blow torch gets to blast platinum out of substrate, creating a battery that's going to last forever. This is also known as a fuel cell. They put me in a giant Costco-sized warehouse and they give me my very own lab hood to do my work in every day. It's lab coat, goggles, earplugs, purple rubber gloves, close-toed shoes. And I think this is making me look exactly like I am supposed to be, like the scientist that I am becoming. One day I'm at my lab hood and I'm changing out the bolts on a tank of sulfuric acid. And this tank, oh my, it is... It is falling. It's falling in slow motion, out of the hood and into my lap and down both of my legs. Oh, my God. I scream. My boss and two other men come running over. Exchange of words happened, I don't really know what's being said, but between the three of them, I hear something like, "She needs to get in the emergency shower right now!" "Actually, no, first she needs to take off all of her clothes because otherwise the acid will just continue to stick to her." "Well, hang on, guys. We can't have her get naked in front of all of us. This is an open warehouse." "Are we even really sure if she spilled it on herself? I mean, look at her pants. They don't look that wet, right?"
Kimberly Chao shares her story at our hybrid Proton Prom event at Caveat in New York City on June 3, 2021. Photos by Zhen Qin.
All I know is, right now, my legs are tingling and I'm not really sure if it's the panic rising in me or just the acid... I don't know, but what I do know is these men, I expected them to have all the answers. They should know what to do, they are big adults. They are at least 30 years old, and they all have PhDs. They should know everything. And they do. They tell me, OK, plan B, you're going to take this extra lab coat, you're going to go to the ladies' room and close the door behind you, take off your clothes and just proceed to pour as much water as you can on yourself. OK, ok. I do as I'm told. I go. Beaker after beaker, I keep filling it up from this bathroom sink and trying to get as much on me as possible. But really it's just turned the whole bathroom into a water party for me.
But then a woman walks in the door. I've never seen her before. I don't know who she is, but she starts talking at me, something about the CDC, something about a chemical containment chamber. And what I do follow is I need to follow her. So I walk out of that bathroom with her, and as I cross the threshold out back into the warehouse, I see three hundred faces in front of me. They're all looking at me. It's a small company. Everybody that works at the company is there with me. And I am cold.
And I'm very aware that I am practically naked under my lab coat and this is highly uncomfortable, so I just follow her with my eyes down, trying not to make eye contact. We, of course, have to go to this chamber that is on the far side of the warehouse and so behind me, I'm leaving the long, wet trail of my little footprints on the concrete floor for everybody to know where I have gone off to. Everyone is now going to know me at this company. They're going to know me as the girl who spilled acid on herself, as the girl who ruined their safety track record, as the girl who is not a real scientist. Well, apparently, the CDC has been called and I need 20 minutes of continuous running water, that beaker, beaker after beaker, still wasn't going to cut it.
So thankfully, this chamber has a hose. It also has a heavy sliding metal door so that my propriety can be kept intact behind it. And this woman proceeds to take the green hose. And she points at me like I have become her garden plant that she's going to water. I don't really want to look at her while she's doing this. So I turn my back on her and as I do so, I can still picture her, even though I'm not seeing her. But I see an executive secretary. She is dressed in formal attire. Her hair is curled. She's got earrings and really nice shoes on.
And as I'm thinking about what she's wearing, I think, Hang on, what am I wearing? I'm wearing a red thong. It has my sorority letters emblazoned across the little triangle that sits just above my butt. And I think, well, she's already seen that. If I turn back around now, I'll just have to look at her knowing that she saw that. So I stay put. And we stand there for 20 minutes in silence. After the hose, what I'd really like to do is go home, but I can't. The CDC also says that I need to be observed for a delayed reaction to acid, which could take up to an hour, and so I'm given into the care of the janitor because he is the expert at this. I have lost my shoes and my pants now at this point, and so he kindly gives me his spare socks and his extra navy jumpsuit. We sit inside of his cubicle together and I'm his mini me at this point, from toe to neck, I am covered completely now with a giant zipper that goes up the front. I don't really want to talk to him either, and thankfully he gives me that silence, but what it does lead to is I get 60 minutes to myself to be in my own head thinking, what does a delayed reaction to acid really look like? Am I going to fall on the floor gurgling? Is this going to kill me? If I die, are they going to bury me wearing this jumpsuit? It's really ugly on me. And I think it could only be worse if it was orange, really.
So I just sit there again for my hour, and when my prison sentence is finally up, I get to leave. I leap into my car with joy and I am so relieved to be finally pulling back into my own driveway. Of course, as I'm pulling up, what do I see? My grandmother is there. I knew that she was coming to visit today and I forgot, of course, still. And she is coming out of that garage with her eyes smiling at me, ready to give me a hug. And the moment that her arms fall from that position, I can tell that she has noticed what I am wearing. In fact, she's even noticed what I'm not wearing. I get out of the car and she says, "Where are your shoes? How did this happen?"
And I think, that's a good question. I mean, how did I get here? I don't speak enough Chinese to be able to express what's happened to her, but I have a feeling that even if she was fluent in English, I would still not have the answer to her question. Two months go by and now I'm back at college. I'm still thinking about Grandma's question. How did I get here? I mean, I remember as a kid, my mother always taught me A equals average, B equals bad, C equals failing, and if you're wondering what F stands for, if C is failing, well, she said F is where I disown you. Well, naturally, I didn't want to be disowned, so I made a very strong point to get straight As for average.
I happened to stand out in chemistry and both of my parents were engineers, so I had to become a chemical engineer. Now when it came to college acceptance letters, I did get some choice. I was given the choice between Georgia Tech and MIT. And as a kid growing up in Georgia, my dream was to go to Georgia Tech. I thought it was my destiny. Given the choice, I also knew what I wanted, though -- I wanted a new winter wardrobe. None of the clothes I already owned would suffice for a Boston winter, so I picked MIT. Now even though I went up north, I was required to come back home for the summer, and that's how I wound up picking this internship, which leads me to the acid, the acid that corroded the bolts holding the tank, and then gravity chose to make that tank fall on me. I feel like so much of my life was already set in motion without me. And I wonder to myself, Is this really me? I mean, I appreciate the science and the research that I'm doing. But what I'm lacking here right now is human connection. And after this summer, I'm positive that acid is not my friend. So after graduation, I don't go home to Georgia like I was supposed to. Nor do I go back to the lab. I do, however, leave my mark on that company. They erect Kimberly Memorial Shower Curtains in my name so that my spirit for science will always be there.
Story 2: Saad Sarwana
Saad Sarwana shares his story at our hybrid Proton Prom event at Caveat in New York City on June 3, 2021. Photos by Zhen Qin.
The officer picked up my hand and started taking my fingerprints. It was a surreal experience, just like all the TV shows I'd watched where the perp was getting his fingers fingerprinted. Why was I in this situation? Was I getting arrested? That couldn't be -- this wasn't a police officer. This was an immigration officer and I was at JFK Airport. Why had they pulled me aside? Had they found the pockets of Shan chicken tikka and Biriyani Masala I had been smuggling in in my suitcase? I know technically you aren't allowed to bring food into the country, but we are talking about Masalas. The Pakistani equivalent of Hamburger Helper. If people are getting arrested for that, half the people on my plane would be deported. Normally in a situation like this, I would crack a joke, but in this tense moment, even my sense of humor was failing me. I stood there silently as the officer manipulated my fingers and completed the fingerprinting process. He then asked me to wait in another room, the room had an open door so I could see the few other people who had also been pulled aside. As I sat there, I tried to understand why I was being singled out. Had they found out I was a comedian? I had come to the U.S. on a student visa to study physics, and during that time I'd caught the comedy bug. I had now graduated and moved away from my student F1 visa to an H-1B visa. The H-1B visa only allowed me to work for the company that was sponsoring my application, no other work was permitted. My student visa likewise also didn't allow me to work.
But I'd been getting good as a comedian and I was starting to get paid work. So every time I told a joke, I was breaking the law. I was one of those immigrants who was taking jobs away from real American comics. I had become a political talking point. But how had they found out last year I'd made two hundred and fifty dollars doing stand-up comedy? And I hadn't declared any of that on my tax returns. They must have found out and now I was going to get deported for tax evasion. As I sat there, I envisioned other scenarios. Had they found the pirated DVDs I'd bought on Canal Street? I should have taken those FBI warnings more seriously. With the open door, I could see outside all the other people who are pulled aside and were waiting in the holding area. I was so different from them. Those people looked like they were fresh off the boat, or plane in this instant. I wasn't like them. I was a dude. I literally own a baseball cap, which said, dude. I bought it after watching The Big Lebowski. My backpack had Star Wars tchotchkes on it, which I had bought to signify my love for Star Wars and Office Space. Why had they pulled me aside? That's when I noticed something -- everyone else on the side was also brown. So this happened post 9/11 and the US had just initiated a new system called the National Security Exit Entry Registration System, or NSEERS. It would also go by the name of special registration because everyone wants to feel special.
Under this program, all Muslim males from majority Muslim countries were supposed to come in and register with Immigration. They were interviewed at the point of entry. They were supposed to check in periodically and supposed to let the Immigration know any time they move, change phone numbers, even email addresses. I, of course, didn't know any of this. So in walks this overworked immigration officer and the NSEERS program has just started, so he has about 100 people to get through it and he just wants to get this over with. So he immediately starts peppering me with questions. What are you doing here? What's your work like? I answer as best as I can, but I'm starting to get nervous. And when I get nervous, I get technical. So when he asked me about my work, I start explaining to him what are superconducting, quantum interference devices. And I realize he doesn't understand that. I think maybe I need to go back to theory, so I started explaining him BCS theory. Neither of this works on him because he just keeps interrupting me with other questions.
That's when I realize that what he's trying to do is figure out if I'm a terrorist or not. Now, my parents are lawyers and if anything they've taught me is in a situation like this, you need some evidence to clear your name, to exonerate yourself. I can't simply say I'm not a terrorist. That's what a terrorist would say. I need some something. What do I have with me that'll help exonerate me? I have my backpack. What do I have in my backpack? I have a lanyard from a superconductivity conference I attended. Would that help? Probably not. What else do I have? Oh, I recently published my first paper as first author, which I had taken home to show my parents I have that in my backpack. I can show that to him. That'll prove I'm not a terrorist for sure. Only a true scientist would go through the torture of a peer review process. So I grabbed my backpack and I tried to get my paper out, and that's when he stops me. He explains to me what NSEERS is and what my responsibilities are now that I've been registered. I'm supposed to check in with the local immigration office and let ICE know any time I do anything, like change locations, you know, move, anything, I'm supposed to let them know. I'm in complete shock. I felt so violated. I'm thinking, what's going on? Why is this happening to me? I start contemplating if I truly want to be a part of the society, if it does not want me to be a part of it. I start thinking if I, as a Muslim American, will truly ever be able to melt in and be an American if this is how I'm treated.
And as I'm thinking this, the officer gets up and starts walking out the room. And as he's leaving, he turns to me and says "Assalumalikum." I reply, "Walikumasalam," which is a standard response to this Muslim greeting. And that's when I noticed his name tag, it says Mohammad. Thank you.