Maybe I'd get lucky and the protein would fold in that time; maybe I wouldn't, and they'd find me 35 years later, in some sub-subbasement below the chemistry building at Stanford, a raving lunatic lost to the dredges of Ph. D. research, sneaking out only at night to feed on spilled yeast extract and collecting discarded NMR tubes to wear as primitive jewelry. (I heard this happened to a guy.)