I’ll make an exception to being vague about my personal details (although this is my personal HN account) and chime in with something eerily relevant. At my sc

I’ll make an exception to being vague about my personal details (although this is my personal HN account) and chime in with something eerily relevant. At my school, we literally had a chemistry teacher who went by the name Bombe Bo (Bob the Bomber, if you fancy a quasi-translation of the Danish moniker). The teachers amiably called him by the name as well—possibly because he once set an adult’s hair on fire during one of his experiments. He was, is, possibly the most beloved teacher at the school, and he was known for—you guessed it!—blowing things up. The man would seize any opportunity to make something go boom, and we all loved him for it. At our final class with him before graduation, he assigned his students to mix, I believe, bromide and acetone (and some). The students just saw it as another experiment, but as some of you have already realized ... unbeknownst to them, the students had created tear gas! To add insult to injury, he had brought a camera to snap photos of everyone’s faces. The guy was a black-belt in pranks. It was inconceivable for students not to love the guy—he was also one of the nicest people in the world and never had to scold anyone—ever. Because as hard as the course material could be, it was impossible to hate him—and chemistry.