Waste Watch! A Brief History
Waste Watch A Brief History:
In writing this piece it really isn’t my intention to be deliberately crude or graphic, nor is it my aim simply to make you laugh (though I rather expect the more sadistic amongst you will). In truth the point of this piece is to give an honest account of the degree to which I have been personally humiliated in the work place. It’s a long line of humiliations that stretches back almost seven or so years and more importantly it’s a long degrading series of events that have helped shape me into the man I am today.
As perhaps the more astute of you will have gathered, the founder of this website and my long time friend, Dan, has over the years taken a very special interest in my professional life, that interest being that he finds the notion of me on my hands and knees cleaning up another person’s diarrhoea, absolutely hilarious. Hence, CBB has a section named ‘Waste Watch!’. That’s right. CBB has an entire section devoted to nothing more than keeping a written record of all the occasions on which I am required to clean up another person’s poop, piss, vomit or blood.
Simply put, CBB has a page dedicated to the accurate chronicling of my continuing misery.
If you have read my blurb in the ‘About’ section then you’ll possibly recall that McDonalds and a working men’s social club were my first two jobs. Don’t get me wrong these jobs had horrors all of their own and on occasion could be messy, but my relationship with biological waste began in 2003 whilst in the employ of the Seattle Coffee Company (known more commonly to you and I as ‘Starbucks’). It wasn’t a full on brush with waste, since I wasn’t required to clean any up but it was instead, a warning of what working life could and would become…
I walked in on a pensioner masturbating into a public urinal. I walked in on an elderly man, standing up at a urinal – in full view of anyone who might have entered the toilets – wanking furiously with not a single care in the world. I walked in on a man in his late sixties or early seventies, committing a lude sexual act.
It’s an image I will never forget. It’s a moment that stays with me – an elderly man, finishing himself off, with me in the same room.
Did he know I was there? Was he aware of what he was doing and how horribly inappropriate it was? Impossible to say and I’d rather not speculate.
However like I said, I wasn’t required to clean anything up, thankfully.
But it certainly taught me a little lesson about what it is to work somewhere that has public toilets, and over the years it’s gotten worse.
There was the incident at Borders Books and Music where every day for a week and a half, we found, in the ladies toilets, a soiled and discarded tampon – just lying on the floor, thrown to the ground like an empty mars bar wrapper. On four out of those ten or so days, it fell to me to clean it up, rather disproportionately so might I add, considering the number of people who worked there.
Then there were also the two or three occasions I was required to clean up bags filled with used smack-head paraphernalia.
Reasonable of them to ask me, a lowly bookseller, to clean that up, after all such items only carry the risk of Hepatitis, HIV or AIDS. No big deal really.
However the real fun began in the year 2004 when I started work at the Queen’s Head Pub in Brighton. Despite how cathartic writing this has become, were I to give a detailed account of every ‘incident’ that occurred there, you’d be sat reading this for hours – so perhaps just a ‘best of’ will suffice.
There was the time that one dirty bastard had trailed diarrhoea all the way from the front door of the pub to the toilets (Which I should point out were down two flights of stairs and past the pub’s kitchen) and I must have spent at least forty five minutes on my hands and knees armed with industrial kitchen roll and bin bags. The smell was horrendous, the state of the floor was a major talking point among the pub’s patrons (in the midst of which were some so-called friends of mine, laughing heartily) and when I’d finally finished the grim task I was greeted with a standing ovation and mock applause. Hilarious, I’m sure.
There was also the time that an old man sat in his chair enjoying his pint and felt getting out of his seat to piss was too much trouble. That was fun.
One person managed to shower the two flights of stairs in vomit once, the angle of the stairs and height of the ceiling meaning that I needed a step ladder to reach some of the sick. Another person sat at his table with his friends, then just puked in his pint glass and made a hasty exit. That one doesn’t sound so bad does it? Did I mention he knocked over the pint glass whilst making his escape? Oh I didn’t? Well he did.
Let’s not forget the woman whose arse had apparently exploded just before she made contact with the toilet bowl. She managed to spray her diarrhoea a decent feet or so up the wall behind the toilet. I distinctly remember specks of it being at eye level to myself and I’m not a midget/dwarf. I’m a 25 year old male who is around 5”10 tall. What’s more the toilet walls in that place were tiled. I was afforded the opportunity to find out what it’s like to try and clean diarrhoea from the grouting in-between bathroom tiles. Would you believe that it’s not as fun as you might imagine.
Lastly there was the discarded colostomy bag in the men’s toilet cubicle. How could I ever forget the discarded colostomy bag? Just sitting there, filled to overflowing. Imagine a bin bag filled with yogurt… there you go.
There have been countless other incidents and I’m quite sure Dan is counting on there being many more – lucky me, there’s now a place for people to come together and enjoy them. A place that will ensure I am never allowed to forget.
I dare say that Dan is right, there will be other incidents and for the time being I will humour his grotesque fascination and post regular accounts of them. If you’re lucky I may even include pictures. You’d like that wouldn’t you, you sick bastard. However until such a time I’ll leave you with one final thought
Frederick Nietzsche, the 19th-century German philosopher and classical philologist famously wrote “That which doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger.”
Nietzsche was a c*nt.
- Jay Hurst 29/12/09