By the look of the kid's face at Albertson's, you would've thought I'd just pulled a gun on him. The young man, an assistant manager at the grocery store, looked absolutely petrified when I told him I was writing a newspaper piece about dry ice. He didn't even give me a chance to explain why I was doing so, before running off to get his manager.
I kind of understand. Any notepad-scribbling guy who asks too many questions about dry ice must be up to something. But I just want to see the stuff, to know where it comes from and most important: to know what the hell it's used for in the first place.
Maybe the kid wants to hoard Albertson's dry ice supply, and that's why he's cold-shouldering me. This grocery store located in the Landings is, after all, the only place in town you can find it. Albertson's, believe it or not, is the alpha and omega of dry ice in Sarasota.
The limited retail options should come as no surprise. Unless you're a vacationing fisherman headed home with a cooler full of grouper or a music video director wanting to remake Michael Jackson's "Thriller," dry ice is pretty much useless. These two groups — those who need it for cooling and those who need it for the smoke dry ice produces when mixed with water — are pretty much the only ones buying.
And as expected, Albertson's actually loses money every time they stock up on dry ice. A 10-pound block only lasts about 24 hours before turning into carbon dioxide gas. And, contrary to popular belief, putting it in your freezer won't do a damn bit of difference. Dry ice is too cold for that.
What is dry ice, and how does it work? The first answer's simple — it's solid carbon dioxide. As for how it works, the gas is compressed, turned into a liquid, then freezes to temps that hover at around minus 110 degrees Fahrenheit. When dry ice cools, it sublimates, turning directly from solid form to a gas (whereas the ice in your freezer will turn into water first).
I used dry ice only once, for a party months ago at which a mock volcano figured prominently (long story). The stuff was burning (OK, freezing) its way through everything — even the heavy-duty gloves the Albertson's bag boy wore while retrieving it for me. Funny, no one blinked the day I came into the grocery store and said I was making a volcano. Were I to walk in with a notepad, I may've never gotten to see Albertson's coveted stash of dry ice in the first place.
This article appears in May 10-16, 2006.