Just like this, except without the diamond-incrusted ice pick and better hair.
Anyway, since our dutiful and conscientious post doc left, no one wants to touch the thing, especially not to defrost it. It's like the family secret no one mentions, we just keep muttering curse words under our breath as our fingers freeze shuffling through unlabelled boxes. I have become particularly impatient since my back corner space was being encroached on (again... it seems space wars are also being fought on a much smaller scale everyday here in my own lab), and was the impetus for finally pulling the plug.
I put up a sign on Friday to say everyone should move their stuff by Monday afternoon. It used the word "mofo" to refer to the freezer, and had a terrible clip-art hammer on it. It also ended with the word "Cheers!" but that didn't seem to promote the actual moving of stuff. So after shlepping everything upstairs to the spare -20C, I attacked the frost with zeal. Pent-up frustration was channeled productively, and after mopping the floor this morning, our freezer is humming away again. Now we need to tackle the re-introduction of stuff back into the feezer, but I'm already starting on a floorplan of sorts. Everyone gets their own space, defended as violently as deemed necessary.
I will win the war.
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