…but, oh please, couldn’t you mistake me for one, for just a moment?

During lunch yesterday, I went and picked up a five pound (or, as I learned, a “20 foot”) bottle of compressed nitrogen from Keen Compressed Gas in West Chester. I love meddling in random areas of industry, since you get to (just for example) WALK OVER A METAL CATWALK in order to get inside. I told the fellow what I was up to, explained that I needed a bottle of gas for [SECRET UPCOMING PROJECT], and then completely ignored his advice to buy the big tank, since it wouldn’t have fit on the motorcycle.

Anyhow, I felt very glamorous and secret-agent-y with my industrial nitrogen bottle strapped to my sidecar, especially when I was chasing down the ice cream truck I met coming the other way, since I’ll need his involvement in [SECRET UPCOMING PROJECT]. Sadly, I lost him around Bolmar street. Apparently there’s some kind of ice-cream-truck batcave around there.

When I was googling compressed gas, I learned a new and interesting section of the yellow pages I had never seen before: “Carbonic Gases.” I also learned the other kinds of people that use them Carbonic Gases:

• Welders,
• West Chester University frat boys (CO2 bottles power their giant basement Kegerators),
• Aquarium enthusiasts (i’m not sure why),

and very occasionally,

• People into [SECRET UPCOMING PROJECT]