Several years ago I worked as a research technician. The workbenches were set up like:
(me) (my bench)
(clumsy asshole's bench) (Clumsy Asshole)
So CA is working on a procedure in which he is basically washing a radioactive isotope off a piece of nylon (Southern blot wash).
He has a shield set up between him and the work, and another set up behind that, but it's just a wall barrier; it's not a self contained box. He has a geiger counter to scan the blot to see when it's clean, and I can hear it picking up background radiation... tick---tick---ticktick--tick---tick
I'm minding my own business, working away at my bench. Then, simultaneously, three things happen:
1) CA says "oops"
2) Geiger counter says "tick---tick---tictktktktktscccreeeeeeeeee"
3) a thick, soapy liquid comes rushing under the shelves, across my bench, over the edge, soaks the shins of my pants and gets in my shoes.
It was only 32P, so it wasn't a big deal, but still fuck, dude. It's on my clothes!
I had to leave my pants, socks, and shoes at the lab to cool off for a few weeks, and I had to go home barefoot (his feet were 3 sizes smaller than mine, or he would have gone home barefoot). Fortunately, I had my gym clothes there so I had some shorts at least.
(apologies for the crappy diagram)
(Editor's Note: 32P is basically Phosphorus-32; to give an example, they use this stuff in nuclear medicine to find malignant tumors in the body, because cancerous cells have a tendency to accumulate more phosphate than normal cells. Very low level radiation, and unlikely to harm OP, thankfully.)