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There I was,
sitting
at the computer, reading an SF novel I'd
downloaded from the Baen Free Library,
the teevee droning on in the background, just in
case some news should happen, when it
happened.
Out
the corner of my ear, I heard Neil
Cavuto say something about Kellogg's cereal
and mercury batteries.
Huh?
My ears perked up. Did he say mercury
batteries?
Yes, he did!
I
spun around in time to catch the wrap-up of a
very short news item. Kellogg, it seems, was
under assault by the Connecticut Attorney
General, for selling breakfast cereals with
toys powered by mercury batteries.
The
Legions of Green (to coin a phrase) were up in
arms, and the CT AG was at the ready to defend
the honor, safety, and so forth, of The
Children.
If,
like me, you're afflicted with an affection for
the classic cameras that were manufactured
during the golden age of photography -- the
early 1960s through the mid-1970s -- you realize
that it's no longer possible to purchase the
mercury batteries specified for these cameras.
Some
people take the coward's way out, and drop in
alkaline "replacements", which
although similar in designation and identical in
dimension, do not provide the same voltage,
and therefore do not function properly in many
of these cameras. This "works", after
a fashion, since most folks nowadays shoot color
print film, with such wide latitude as to make
metering itself nearly superfluous (especially
when combined with the "modern"
willingness to accept any image at all,
regardless of quality).
Still,
for the discerning user (or, the slide
film shooter), accurate metering is
important. Thus, the marketplace has delivered
solutions like the Wein
Cell battery. And, avid experimenters have
developed diode
adapters that allow many cameras to function
using silver oxide batteries.
But,
not all cameras or light meters will function as
designed unless they're supplied with actual
mercury batteries.
Thus,
it should come as no surprise that I was
delighted to hear that for the mere price of a
box of cereal, I could obtain a mercury battery!
Yet,
I remained skeptical, ever the cynic. If it
sounds too good to be true...
So,
I Googled up some news, and found some links
that supported what I'd heard on Cavuto:
Wow!
They all contained the magic words
"mercury battery" (or "mercury
batteries")!
I
hastily fired off a heads-up to several
photography listservs I frequent:
"Free" mercury batteries -- but hurry. I expect the feds to issue a
nationwide recall post haste.
http://www.wmtw.com/Global/story.asp?S=1991378
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The
next day, my wife returned home from the grocery
with two boxes of Kellogg's Cocoa Rice
Krispies (she had a coupon!) in arm.
So
far so good. These were the boxes -- they
had the toy!
I
quickly obeyed the directive and looked at the
back of the box for the details:
Yes!
The M-word!
Then,
upon opening the top, there was the toy, in its
own packaging, with another warning!
Be
still my heart!
With
visions of light meters frolicking in the sun, I
took The Toy in hand. As you can see, it's a
handful indeed:
And,
it has a strap that's doubtless scientifically
designed to break away in any potentially
dangerous situation. In fact, I could barely get
it to stay on my wrist.
I
then looked at the back, to see what it would
take to open it up and remove the object of my
delight, the mercury battery of my dreams. But,
I was foiled by the Security Screws from Hell!
I
pride myself on having one of the world's
largest selections of security bits. Yet,
nothing I had was a match for the strange
triangle-shaped screw heads that held this toy
together. Junior, I realized, was quite safe
from the unspeakable horrors of the Mercury
Battery (which, until a few years ago, were
available in nearly every store in the land,
used in everything from cameras to watches to
hearing aids to radios... how Junior
survived at all in such a Hell-Land of
Mercury-Danger is beyond my powers of
comprehension).
But
then it struck me:
Yes,
somehow -- I have no idea what method they used
-- the builders were able to know that I would
be purchasing this specific toy. They actually
inscribed it with my initials! Perhaps those
strange vibrations my my fillings were sending
messages to Beijing after all...
So,
I did what I had to do. I ripped it to shreds,
using a technique known as "brute
force" (enhanced by a large diagonal
cutters), in order to get at the battery!
As
I was to discover, Junior, even with a
magic bit, would have difficulty opening this
toy. Not only was it screwed together,
but, those spiteful designers ensured safety by cementing
the pieces together too! (As I mentioned to a
reader on one of the lists, the only way Junior
is gonna chew his way into this sucker is to get
a head transplant from a T-Rex.)
Then,
after I'd cut, torn, ripped, and broken my way
past the two levels of screwed and
cemented together safety, my wife
appeared on the scene with a Starrett jeweler's screwdriver.
Its
blade tip was a perfect fit for a
corner-to-corner section of the screw head!
Oh,
the humanity!
But,
at least I was finally in the device, and
I was quickly surprised by the bounty. There
were not one, but two of the sought-for
batteries! Two mercury batteries, worth a
fool's ransom to one so fortunate as to obtain
them.
But,
the cynic dies hard. And in an impulsive moment,
I called for my trusty DVM, to verify the find.
That's
when the defeat set in.
The
sinking feeling began when I saw the "LR44"
designation on the button cells.
It was confirmed when I took my DVM to measure
their voltage. One delivered 1.505 volts, and
the other gave 1.521 volts.
As
you're doubtless aware, a mercury battery
delivers a steady 1.35 volts throughout its
lifespan.
I
was tricked!
These
weren't mercury batteries at all!
These
were alkaline batteries!
Now,
to be completely accurate, I should point out
that until a few short years ago, alkaline
batteries did contain a trace
amount of mercury. But this does not make
them "mercury batteries" any more than
the crowns on my teeth make me a Golden Boy.
I
quickly dashed off a correction to every
listserv I'd previously notified, and then sat
back to review the situation.
What
I had from this misadventure were two very
common alkaline batteries, worth perhaps a
dollar in the aggregate, a high intensity LED,
what appeared to be a piece of lithography film
with the image of the hole from an old New York
City subway token imprinted on it, a small piece
of scrap metal, and a large amount of plastic
shards.
Holding
the two batteries in my fingers, with the wires
from the LED pressed against the terminals, I
explained to my wife that, "This could make
a nice little LED flashlight!"
Yeah,
that's the ticket.
The
moral of the story, I guess, is not to believe
every bit of good news you hear, even if it is
couched in terms of "bad" news.
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