True—anxious—very, very dreadfully anxious I had been and am. Perhaps even insecure, one would accuse me of being. But not mad. Never mad will you deem me once you have heard my tale. For the sharpest has my intuition always been. I see all: those who envy me, those who pity me, but, above all, those who mock me. And mock me this pipette did, as you will see in the telling of my story. And so acute will you judge my observational prowess that you would never proclaim me mad.

It is impossible to say how the idea first entered my brain; for at first this pipette was my closest, dearest friend. An intimate partner in my experiments—a co-conspirator, I even dare say. How glorious were the 96-well plates we filled together; how majestic was the lightning-fast speed with which we topped off well after well, its multiple channels filling and emptying in a continuous cycle, no less beautiful than the quiet back and forth of the waves on a tranquil sea. The steady, soft buzzing of its motor was almost like the coo of a loving parent.

It was the display that did it, I tell you! That dreadful, hateful electronic display, always showing me that one word every time I filled a well. “Empty!” it would proclaim, almost joyously. But what was empty, I ask you? My brain of ideas? My soul of inspiration? My experiments of results? My research of meaning?

Empty, empty, empty, empty! It almost cackled in joy every time that message appeared, that hateful, vicious instrument did. I swear to you!

So I came up with a plan.

It wasn’t a crude plan, devised haphazardly and in a rush by a soul moved by passion. No, I tell you. It was calculated and plotted in cold blood. Such a beautifully orchestrated plan I hatched; such a plan that could only have been the product of a mind sharpened by years of logical thinking. Would a madman be capable of such dissimulation? Could such a cleverly designed scheme be the result of pure lunacy? For let me tell you of my plot.

At first, I bided my time as I set the intricate, winding threads of my trap, like an orb-weaving spider awaiting its prey. For seven days, I diligently worked in the lab, side by side with my treacherous companion, filling well after well, plate after plate, running PCR after PCR. Slowly, I lured my multichannel, slippery foe into a false sense of safety.

But every night, as the lab emptied out, I lay in wait. As the other researchers left and turned off the lights, I hid in the dark, completely motionless, cunningly watching my unfaithful companion from afar. I did this for seven long nights. But never did I catch sight of that mocking word. That evil display remained dark, as the villainous object hid itself inside the skin of my most trusted companion. So I let my slippery foe rest on its stand throughout the night—that sneering word never once revealing itself to me, its evil masked by the form of a helpful implement. 

And every morning, as the lab awoke once more, I returned to my bench and boldly unholstered the pipette as if nothing had passed. You should have seen how clever I was! It would have taken a very profound mind indeed to have suspected me of anything.

But upon the eighth night, the perfect chance unfolded before me. As I waited in my hiding spot to be once again alone with my unsuspecting target, luck shone upon my scheme. For the last person left in the lab held in their hands my unfaithful companion. They employed the pipette, blissfully unaware of the malice contained inside its repeating channels; and when they were done, they rested the pernicious instrument in its holder and left. And there it was—that sneering message, gleefully displayed across that evil screen. “Empty,” it said, as if even from a distance it could sense my presence and could not help but taunt me.

But the humor was all mine this time, for my trap had finally snapped. In one swift motion, I jumped from my place of hiding, seized the scornful object, and—in one swift motion—hurled it toward the floor. And how glorious it was, I tell you! For I stomped and trampled the jeering pipette until I had destroyed every trace of its derision. I kicked and thrashed until every last bit of the fury that had built up inside me was released.

And then it was done.

I stood there—in the wreckage of my crime—triumphant. I was filled with such a thrill as I had never felt before, I tell you. The treacherous pipette lay on the floor, shattered into a million tiny pieces. Its evil screen would taunt me no more.

Now, if still you question my lucidity, I assure you that you will not once I describe the painstaking measures I took to conceal the carcass. First, I gathered all the large pieces I could see strewn across the floor. Then, with a broom, I carefully swept up all the smaller parts. I gathered all of this inside a trash bag. But I did not just place the bag on top of the garbage right next to my bench. No! That would have been foolish—to leave the evidence there, lying at the very surface of my trash for anyone to see. Instead, I dug through the refuse and placed the bag deep inside, buried underneath countless layers of paper towels and discarded tips—so deep no one would ever find it.

Would an “empty” mind be able to engineer such concealment, I ask you?

When I was finally done with all this, it was still night. So confident did I feel in my dissimulation that I calmly headed out of the lab and went home. I even slept soundly—a smile plastered across my face—lulled by the certainty of my victory.

A smile still graced my face when I walked into the lab the next day. I watched, unfazed, as my colleagues searched benches and drawers for the unholy implement. I even helped them look and suggested possible hiding places—for what did I have to fear? I joined in the search and made sure the whole lab was inspected well—thoroughly. But so brilliant had been my concealment that soon the quest for the missing pipette was abandoned, the instrument deemed to have simply vanished. As if an object so evil could simply pop out of existence without a great act of will—without my incredible determination to make it disappear.

We all went back to work, my colleagues satisfied. But soon, I started to feel an unease—a sort of headache that manifested as a ringing in my ears. No. Not a ringing—a buzz. And not just any buzz. That buzz. That characteristic whirring and buzzing that evil instrument made every time it pulled liquid up and then ejected it down. That horrible mechanical whirl that preceded the wicked jeers it threw my way.

The buzzing grew louder and louder. I looked about me wildly, certain my colleagues could hear it too. But they simply went about their tasks, unbothered. How could that be? For the buzz was ear-splittingly loud. It rang above the humming of the -80°C freezer, the spinning of the centrifuge, the mindless chatter. Oh, it was more an alarm than a buzzing at this point! And yet they all acted unbothered.

Surely this was a ploy—a strategy to make me confess my sins. I had thought my colleagues fooled, but they had suspected me all along! They were pretending not to hear this deafening sound in the hopes of extracting a confession from me. But I was far too clever for that! 

And yet, that infernal sound was still there, drilling into my brain. God! What could I do? I screamed and raved. I pulled at my hair and swung my chair, daring them to come near. I paced the floor, to and fro. I swore and vowed never to confess. And yet all they did was look at me—stare blankly, as if they did not know the crime I had committed. As if they were not accusing me of it in their mind at that very moment!

Oh, but they knew. They heard. I could see it in their beady eyes as they looked at me. And still the sound grew louder—louder—louder! I could take it no more!

“Villains!” I shouted. “Mock me no more! For in this trash right here lies the evidence! Spill it out, and you shall find the guts of the wretched pipette you seek! It is right there—where its buzzing corpse lies!”