So I wake to the sound of rubbish hitting the bottom of plastic bins. I glance outside so see my junkie neighbour’s door wide open. Entering and leaving are some guys with shovels in white hazard suits. I go outside to investigate further, and as I stop to look inside, they all pause and peer out of the house with a look of absolute repulsion. The apartment is dark, and emits a smell that lies somewhere between a zoo, a rubbish dump and a morgue after a power cut. It almost makes me vomit right there in the car park. The workers aren’t so much removing the things from the house (aside from the odd thing like a TV or shelf), as shoveling layer upon layer of congealed unidentifiable gunk, food scraps, plastic, DVDs and anything else imaginable into the bins outside. It’s sort of reminiscent of how sedimentary rock forms, with animals and plant life being caught up in it over the passage of time. I walk out into the street to find another guy dumping some of the materials into some sort of a skip. Next to him is a white van, with a big yellow ‘BIOHAZARD’ stenciled on the side. I spark a conversation. “So I guess you’re removing all the stuff from that house?” The man, in his mid fifties, weathered face, leans over the skip to engage in the conversation. He is sweating and has an expression which reminds me of what the loser looks like right after a 400 meter sprint. “Yes…..house…..” he gasps, “if you can call it that.” “How come, I mean, are you allowed to tell me? “Order…” he manages to spit out. “Ah…..So you guys are called Biohazard. What do you do?” “All types of things. Biological hazards, murder scenes…..” “Oh…………..cool…” So with that, I jump in the car and head off to the shops.
Posted on: Tue, 25 Nov 2014 00:43:50 +0000
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