Week 11, Day Three
A black cylinder, 10 centimeters long and barely over 1 centimeter in diameter ends in a thin, thin glass nib housed in a teeny transparent plastic cup. A squirt of distilled water and an abrasive rub later, it is plunged into a yellow solution droppered flimsily into the small plastic cup. The cylinder is inverted, its wiring carefully set aside. The curved end of the 1 centimeter diameter plastic cup is draped with a membrane held in place by an ultra-thin rubber ring made visible only because its black colour is conspicuous against the transparent background. So far, so good. The last leg involves pushing this delicate assembly of rubber, plastic and glass into a cylindrical hold barely larger in diameter than the cylinder itself. The membrane and rubber ring assembly go in unharmed, the black body of the cylinder starts to move in. And then gets stuck. No amount of force can get it in, the only way out is pulling it back out and destroying the little membrane and rubber ring assembly. Dratted, dainty little equipment that costs over 2000$.
Another hour of re-doing the whole process, and my supervisor successfully installs it in the holder. The holder goes on the clamp, the wires into the meter. Switch on.
The manual says it draws its numbers every 18 seconds. Mine takes 60 times that time. Multiply by six experimental set-ups, and I'm sashaying around the meter for almost an hour and a half. Not to mention the predicament of comparing numbers from the chamber measured at 10:15am with those from the one measured at 11:30am.
Six concurrent set-ups and one precariously functioning respirometer.
Everything here is old school, and not in a good way. With no software for the meter to record the readings all day for weeks, a lot of trials were underway to determine the appropriate timeline for making the recordings. And it doesn't help that the meter sputters like an old engine that just refuses to die and thus be better used as scrap metal.
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