In wild dreams, I get through whole experiments without snags. In waking life, not so much.
Like many academic labs, ours lacks a manager to ensure smooth sailing. The result is pretty much what you would expect, and favors those who are self-seeking by nature.
In lieu of a manager, we each have specific jobs that serve the lab broadly. Mine is to order all reagents and supplies, and I've got a form for eliciting the necessary details:
- Who are you?
- What do you need?
- Who sells it?
- What's the catalog number?
- How much do you want?
Niggling as it might seem, my absolute minimum is answers to the first two questions. Some will happily divulge their identity, but the minority must be harangued.
The binder where we keep the orders has been falling apart progressively. I got a new binder, and decided on a mascot:
For much of the movie, the audience is under the impression that Roz is an irritating bureaucrat who wants to keep Mike Wazowski from getting laid. At the end, we discover that she is the mastermind of a sting operation. Hey, does her sweater have a seed-stitch border?