A plea

Dear yeasties,

We’ve had a pretty good relationship over the years.  So, why are you being so stubborn these days?  In particular, why have you decided to build a cell wall that cannot be permeablized with lyticase and beta-mercaptoethanol (but only when you are in a particular growth media)?  This behavior is really unacceptable and it is actually going to get me into trouble with my committee.  I was supposed to have my penultimate committee meeting this month and because I can’t get the IF pictures and subsequent quantitation (because of your little cell wall issues), I’m not going to be able to have it.

I am especially puzzled because everything was fine between us before and only in recent weeks have you had these cell wall issues.  Perhaps you are angry about the whole killing you for science thing.  Perhaps you think I will stop killing yeast if I can’t get you to behave.  I assure you that is not the case.  I will keep trouble-shooting this experiment, killing millions of yeast in the process, until it works.  This is not a threat, dear yeast, just reality.  But, if you cooperate with me, then your death will not be in vain.  I will be able to get information that will be useful to scientists all over the world and I will put your picture in a nice journal, maybe JCB or even better.  Won’t that be better than dying a silent, unnoticed-by-everyone-except-me-and-my-advisor  death?

Perhaps you are foiling this experiment because you realize that I will not be able to leave if I don’t have it and you don’t want me to go.  I appreciate the sentiment, dear yeast, and we’ve had some good times over the years, but I really need to finish and graduate.  And it is not like you will be lonely–far from it!  There are many people in the lab who will still be doing experiments with you long after I leave.  And they will all being trying to make you famous, just like I am.  I promise.

So please, please, please, dear yeast, let me go.  Lower your wall and let the antibodies inside so that I can take beautiful pictures of you and write the paper and my thesis and go to California and live with my husband and make babies.

Love,

Mrs Whatsit