"Science is progress. History? Just looking backward—it’s for the backward-minded," declared Dr. Ludwig Finkelstein, chemical scientist, to his historian friend Johann Dirksen.

Johann raised an eyebrow. "History is essential. It’s a treasure mine, waiting for you to dig in. If you don’t dig into this treasure mine, what would you be digging into?"

Dr. Finkelstein scoffed. "No, I’m a 21st-century man. I only look forward."

"Then prove it," Johann challenged. "A bet: one month, no history. Nothing related to history."

Dr. Finkelstein smirked. "Easy."

So, the bet began.

In the lab, mini-explosions were happening every day. Dr. Finkelstein burned his fingers during a routine synthesis. “Strange,” he muttered. “This reaction’s usually stable.”

His assistant asked, “Want me to check the records? Historical data would be helpful here. We can find the culprit by root cause analysis.”

Dr. Finkelstein waved him off. “No history. All I need is science.”

By the second week, he dressed a bit like a labourer. Every day, mini-explosions turned the lab into a mess—burnt floors, broken bricks, and dust everywhere. Yet they were still unable to figure out what caused the explosions, due to not accessing their lab records. And there was Dr. Finkelstein, sleeves rolled up. He was either digging, shoveling rubble, or pushing a wheelbarrow.

The third week, mini-explosions continued. Again, Dr. Finkelstein had his sleeves rolled up. He looked more and more like a construction site worker. Again, he was seen doing nothing except digging, shoveling rubble, or pushing a wheelbarrow.

By the end of the month, Dr. Finkelstein was indistinguishable from a construction site worker. His hands grew rougher by the day, and his "scientific experiment"? To figure out how to sweep up ash without coughing.

His assistant was no different. “Why didn’t you just hire a labourer instead of me?” he complained.

Yet the mini-explosions didn’t stop.

At the end of the month, Johann returned with a sealed folder. “Here are your own lab records,” he said.

Dr. Finkelstein opened it. Dozens of entries: reagent lists, solvent brands, glove types, cleaning agents. He scanned them, frowning. Then he saw it: every failed reaction — every burn — shared one detail. A specific cleaning solvent used to prep the glassware. In the few entries where that solvent was absent, the reaction was stable.

Aha! The culprit had been there all along — that specific cleaning solvent.

His assistant, sick and tired of the labourer work, quit.

One week later, Johann brought a historian friend, Ray, to visit Dr. Finkelstein’s lab. Ray told them this was a military bunker area during WWII. They were startled.

The next day, Johann was browsing the city archives when he made a discovery. Buried in a 1946 military decommissioning report, he found a note about Dr. Finkelstein’s house: “Former WWII bunker. Underground storage. Ammunition disposal incomplete. Not suitable for chemical activity or heat exposure.”

The house had been repurposed decades ago, but the warning had never been removed. Johann was alarmed. He thought he had to tell Dr. Finkelstein to stop all chemical activities. Meanwhile, Dr. Finkelstein was conducting huge, volatile experiments in the lab.

Johann tried to call Dr. Finkelstein, but nobody answered. The assistant had quit, and Dr. Finkelstein was busy with his experiments. Dr. Finkelstein rushed to the telephone, but when he saw Johann’s name on the screen, he murmured, "Oh, it's only Johann. Don't worry, historians never have anything important to say. If they did, I would be able to fly..."

As soon as he stepped back into the lab—Boom!

A minor spill triggered a chain reaction. The explosion wasn’t huge — just enough to blow off the roof and launch Finkelstein skyward, through the hole. Fortunately, on his way down, he landed on his sofa. He suffered only minor injuries.

Johann rushed to Dr. Finkelstein’s house, but too late. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? You fool," Dr. Finkelstein scolded him.

The fire department arrived. So did the bomb squad. The university froze his grants. His lab was condemned. His funding revoked.

Dr. Finkelstein sat in his empty office. He had nothing left. He went searching for jobs, but only ended up digging ditches for a city contractor.