The Perfect D20

“Hey, man. Are you almost done? I’d like to close up.”

Startled, I realize that Andre is standing next to me. It’s dark outside and the shop is empty except for the two of us. There are a few dice in my reject pile, but I still haven’t found an accurate one.

“Sorry,” I say as I start to pack up. “Science takes time. I guess I’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“No, no,” Andre protests. “Listen, we have a very generous return policy…”

Part II

Installing a cleanroom at home is harder than it sounds. I had to reroute the air ducts so that the room would be kept at a higher pressure than the rest of the surrounding rooms. I completely renovated the walls, ceiling, and floors to create a sterile environment. I replaced the door with an airlock.

I’m probably not getting back my security deposit on this apartment, but science requires sacrifice.

I have several dozen new D20′s to test, and only a few more weeks before the gaming store’s refund period ends. I will have to spend every evening testing.

I select a light blue D20 with black numbering. I carefully inspect it and make some notes in my notebook before dropping the D20 into the airlock’s drawer, which is accessible from both sides. Then I strip down and step into the airlock itself. The door locks behind me and a harsh UV light activates, killing possible contaminants. After a moment, the light switches off and the door in front of me unlocks.

I step into the cleanroom and retrieve the D20 from the drawer. I’m still naked, but for reasons unrelated to this particular test. Die in hand, I approach the stainless steel table in front of me. It’s topped with a vinyl mat to create an ideal rolling surface while also being easy to sterilize.

It has come to my attention that 1,000 rolls is not enough for the level of scientific certainty I’m striving for. I have increased my sample size to 5,000 rolls per die. With that target in mind, I start rolling the D20 and writing down the results. 18. 13. 6. 8. 9. 12…

Part III

My apartment’s cleanroom was a sufficient enough lab for testing D20′s, but I wasn’t testing them fast enough. I knew that I had to expand my operation, and that meant a new facility and hiring some lab assistants.

Today is Brian’s first day. I buzz him through the exterior doors and welcome him in the lobby. “You’ll need to wear this ID badge whenever you’re on-site. It also functions as a keycard to let you through some of the doors. I’ll get your biometrics into the system so that you can come in on your own from now on.”

We head down the stairs to the changing room. At the door, I place my hand on the fingerprint scanner and it confirms my identity before unlocking. We enter a room with lockers and showers. I instruct Brian to put his stuff in a locker and to strip down. “Modesty has no place in science, Brian.”

Fully naked, we take turns going through the chemical showers. It’s a concoction of my own design that should remove most of the contaminants on a human body. A UV light removes some more, with the added benefit of drying me off. Finally, a short burst of radiation kills any bacteria that might have survived the previous two steps.

Once we’re in a sterile environment, Brian and I don the special suits I had designed. I used to continue naked past this point, but eventually the other staff convinced me to wear them.

There are a few more airlocks, security checkpoints, and biometric locks, but eventually Brian and I reach the lab itself. It’s basically a larger version of the cleanroom I built in my apartment, with a few more amenities. Rows of stainless steel tables extend almost to the back of the room. At each one, a lab tech rolls D20′s, diligently writing down each result. At the end of the day, my assistant will collect all the notebooks. Data entry clerks, who have not been given any details of the project, will type the numbers into my computer program. Afterwards, all the notebooks are incinerated for security purposes.

I’m just showing Brian to his new workstation when a commotion at the other end of the room distracts him.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just coming down to do some laundry,” says a middle-aged man, descending down a staircase. He walks up to the dryer and begins removing clothing.

“Who is that?” Brian asks, confused.

“That’s my dad. I’ve asked him a million times not to come down here during work hours, but part of the deal for setting up in their basement was that my parents could still use it. Now, when you roll the…”

“How did he get down here?” Brian interrupts, still fixated on my father.

“That staircase leads up to the house itself. I wanted to seal that door, but they wouldn’t let me.”

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, my father calls out to the staff. “Anyone want a brew?”

This post was originally posted in three parts on my Tumblr. It was inspired by a conversation with my coworkers: Mark, Nick, and Chris.