Chapter 4: Soured Ink
791 Words
My grandpa was an epic practical joker. From the stories he told me, he had been one since birth, and that never changed. One of my favorite pranks he pulled happened when he was a kid, going to a one-room country school, and he found a can of calcium carbide.
Let me start by explaining what calcium carbide is for those who do not know. The carbide my grandpa found was the type used in carbide lanterns and old-fashioned mining lamps. A small lump of the grayish-brown material would be placed in a lamp or lantern, and water would drip onto it slowly, allowing the acetylene gas to be released. That gas would then be lit, producing a light that was brighter than a candle flame of the same size.
While this is a wonderful source of light, when the calcium carbide is dropped into enough water to be submerged, it will release large amounts of gas at one time. This makes it quite dangerous, both because of the possibility of combustion and the rapid release of gas that can cause a sealed container to explode violently. However, to a young boy, it was a magical plaything.
After playing with the calcium carbide he had found for some time, my grandpa decided that taking it to school and showing it to his friends would be the best option. When he arrived at school, he was very careful to make sure that his teacher did not become aware of the fantastic toy he had.
While in class, my grandpa kept looking at the inkwells that sat on each desk in their tiny one-room schoolhouse. Each was a small glass jar with a cork stopper sealing the inkwell and protecting the ink. As he studied them, he thought about how he had seen glass jars and bottles break when he added carbide and water to them. He had to wonder what would happen if carbide was put in the inkwells?
My grandpa had to pick the right time to do it. He bided his time and waited for the longest break of the day when they had lunch and their noon recess. He waited until everyone else had left the room and went to work. He quickly moved from desk to desk, dropping a single piece of calcium carbide in each inkwell and quickly jamming the cork back into the bottle before moving to the next. By the time he finished, he saw the cork of the first inkwell where he had put carbide, blast out of the jar, spraying ink across the desk and up to the ceiling.
My grandpa hurried out of the building and found his friends outside, acting as if he had done nothing. While he was outside waiting for recess to be over, he could hear the occasionally loud pop as another cork was propelled out of the inkwells.
By the time lunch and recess were over, my grandpa was giddy with the anticipation of what they would find when they walked back into the schoolhouse. The teacher lined the children up at the door, and as soon as he opened it, he saw the mess. The classroom was in total chaos. The ink was everywhere. Corks had spewed out of the bottle with such force they had hit the ceiling. Some of the inkwells had exploded from the force of the acetylene gas being released. A few of the inkwells had simply bubbled over, spilling the contents over the desks and floor.
The teacher stared at the mess, taking in every drop of spilled ink. He tried to think of a rational explanation for what had happened. Finally, he came up with what had happened. The teacher looked at the kids and said, “Well, I guess the ink must have soured.”
My grandpa and his friends were barely able to contain themselves. They knew what had happened and that my grandpa was responsible for it.
The teacher had all of the children go into the schoolhouse and get their belongings before sending them home early. The poor teacher spent the rest of the day cleaning up the “spoiled ink” so the kids could return to class the next day.
My grandpa said that you could still see the ink stains on the ceiling of the old schoolhouse until the day it fell down. He and his friends never told the teacher what had actually happened and why the ink had “soured” and caused so much damage.
Of all of the tales that my grandpa told, I think this one was one of his favorites. Not only because of what he had done but also because he had gotten away with it.
- Writer
