Upon entering the lobby of the Ontario Science Centre, I am magically swept up in a wave of instant depression that transports me back to grade school.
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Perhaps there was some Catholic reason that our class never got to visit the little Island Natural Science School but did get bused out to the massive new complex plonked into the wooded valley of the West Don.
Predating personal computers, satellite TV and cellphones, the Science Centre gave a taste of the kind of experience we could expect a lot more of in the shiny modern future: frustration. But then, I was a sensitive child.
As I recall, even back then pieces of the interactive displays were broken. The sheer size of the Science Centre means an army of maintenance workers must be busy all the time. They haven’t made it yet to the stationary escalator where I, along with a million or so grade schoolers, am treated to an unadvertised experiment in depth perception. A girl behind me says she’s dizzy. “Yeah, I almost fell,” says her friend.
See, when not in motion, the vertical grooves on the escalator steps all line up together, creating the illusion of one long striped path ahead and making it difficult to discern where each step begins. Kind of ironic, this dangerous impromptu learning experience on an escalator that has three different red signs warning how not to use an escalator and two more green ones for how to. Not enough. Already, we are outside the realm of predicted possibility.
Okay, I got my $18 worth. I can go now. It’s so beautiful outside today. No, I press on, descending further into this building that, in spite of its windows, seems all bowels, past crowds and noises and burning smells, looking for Hall D and The Science Of Spying.
“You must follow Mr. Grant without being seen. With the right clothes and a believable story, you’ll always blend in.” There’s a box of dress-up clothes. “Grab clothes and objects that back up your core story.” I consider the bear suit. “But don’t overdo it or you’ll attract attention.”
As the only adult unaccompanied by 20 children, there’s not much chance of blending in.
The first assignment – and I remember this from the amazing documentary about Castro’s mistress, who was forced into espionage by U.S. operatives, so it’s a real spy technique – is to go through Mr. Grant’s garbage. It’s not real garbage but photo facsimiles of stuff like a toothbrush and raw meat on plastic slabs.
A couple of tries pushing on the screen where it says “touch button” to locate the garbage scanner are enough to declare defeat. It’s not just because I am ancient and anti-?technology. The kids make the same mistakes I do. But they quickly correct them and carry on. They’ll all make excellent spies.
Heck, this is the first time I have ever even “swiped” anything. No, we’re not learning to steal. Although I saw the movie Pickpocket the other day, and both thieves and our spy trainers agree a newspaper is the best cover. If all paper goes digital, what will they carry?
We’re trying to swipe our way into a cyber network with a card. This is my debut as a swiper, because I have no bank, debit, air miles or any other card. And it doesn’t work. Not for the next kid either. But it does for the third. Ah, like a secret knock.
It occurs to me that with all the machines, lights, buzzers and trumped-up excitement, the Science Centre is more a training ground for casino-goers than for junior scientists.
I learn that SmartWater glows in ultraviolet light and won’t wash off for weeks. Each batch is unique, to identify the site of spraying. Perfect for tracking demonstrators, for instance.
A micro aerial spy robot, the Entomopter, can fly, crawl, swim. The wing design was inspired by the hawk moth. There’s even a cute field guide to future spy devices that mimic the natural species they will replace.
On a video terminal I choose The Park to meet an agent. Agent vetoes and says we must meet at bus station. I smell a set-up. I have to bail. Does the description of elf operatives helping Santa by hacking email gift lists make the kids feel secure? Is it true that video surveillance “brings peace of mind”?
The best exhibit here is a ham radio station except for the fact that the rooftop satellite antenna is on the needs-fixing list.
I take the first exit door I find. At the DuPont-?sponsored bridge, a goldfinch lies dead on a ledge, after slamming into the glass. Dow is another major sponsor of the Ontario Science Centre. Also Biovail.
Science has progressed a lot. I could probably go to a doctor and get a prescription for Science Centre depressive disorder syndrome. Instead, I find the river and wade into the water.
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