A 19th century BC cuneiform tablet from the town of Sippar in the region of Babylonia had been carefully placed on an examination table awaiting its turn to be cleared of damage caused by salt. Its dark brown clay was infused with a white mineral, evidence of the saline soil from which it was made. It was a priceless treasure left behind by our Bronze Age ancestors as proof that they had created a written language. It became their gift, a seed to strengthen civilization, a way to record even the most mundane events and now it sits on this table awaiting desalination: a preservation process designed to harden its structure and give it a bath essential. Removing the salt would prevent it from becoming too brittle to move. And this was just one of a collection of 130,000 cuneiform tablets from Mesopotamia here at the London Metropolitan Museum. His cousins ​​and brothers could be found in trays placed in the stainless steel sink across the room, under a constant stream of cold water. The electric oven, used to harden these artifacts, was once again losing heat at an alarming rate, causing the air conditioner to run at full speed. This always happens when Dr. Milton Schwab was in the middle of a firing cycle; otherwise, it was stiflingly hot in the desalination lab and it was his home for the next ten hours. He set a timer then turned around to focus on a more pressing problem than the air conditioner. A contaminant had begun to appear on the surface of these artifacts and it wasn't just one; all Sippar cuneiform tablets bore stains. It's an epidemic, Dr. Schwab thought, looking at a tray of pills that he had left to air dry on the counter. He ran his fingers over the hardened crystals. H...... middle of paper...... "Laundry soap?" “Yeah, you know…Calgon. The name is derived from missing calcium, because that’s what it does.” “That’s great. Dr. Fielder smiled. “Yeah…Calgon, take me yyy!” “DR. SCHWAB. “Right.” Schwab fell behind Dr. Polley as they headed for the door. He was still shaking. Losing his job would be the worst thing that could happen to him. He loved this place. He never married, never had children. His work was his home. No one, he could ever allow anyone to take away his job and for what? “Oh, wait.” Schwab removed the headphones from around his neck and handed them to Dr. Fielder. “You’re going to need this, buddy.” He glanced at the girls then rushed out the door to catch up with Dr Larkin.Works CitedReport No 1998/10, The British Museum, Department of Conservation Research Group