The day after the shitrags

I didn't completely realise how feverishly single minded I would become with the whole experience.

From what I can gather, they got cleaned up within a couple of hours. I guess the council really can act fast if there are shitrags involved. Maybe a little too fast. Sydney council aren't exactly famous for their expedient service. It took them 20 years to change the 80-year-old sewerage pipes near my dad's house. The more I think about it the more sinister things become. I digress.

I walked past the cleaned up block and smiled. There was still a bit of eau de shitrag in the air, but it wasn't so bad. I figured that my brief adventure was over and went back to living my life.

If this whole experience had ended there, I would probably be a lot happier right now. God knows I would have had a lot more sleep. I should have left it alone, but something was drawing me in. Someone or something was trying to communicate with me.

The next morning was Sunday and for some reason my alarm went off at 8:00. I have to be ready for work and out of the house at 8:00 during the week. My alarm is never set to 8:00. I had a craving for some eggs, so I thought I'd beat the rush at the cafe down the road. I decided not to shower (which is pretty out of character for me) and went down the road. Past where the shitrags had been. It was a really nice sunny day.

I had a bit of a laugh to myself as I passed the block, and looked up at the sky for a minute because it was such a vivid blue. I was glad I'd woken up early, it was a beautiful morning in the city.

Then I noticed something. There was a tent hanging from the power lines.


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As I took the first photo, I noticed a police van. Their lights started flashing, almost in acknowledgement. I took a couple more pictures just for the hell of it and went for my eggs.


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I did a bit of shopping afterwards and headed back home at about midday. By this point the police had blocked off a lane of traffic and had somehow removed the poles from the tent. There were three policemen in that van, arms folded, staring daggers into the tent. I think they'd given up and were just waiting for it to fall in the wind.


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NICE POLICING THERE FELLAS

By this point I thought that this was all pretty funny. The gut wrenching trauma of yesterday was fading away into a great story. I posted some pictures on a messageboard and had a laugh with some friends about the whole thing.

I wish things stayed this funny. This was the last great day I've had.

It all began with the shitrags.

I've smelled a lot of things in my time. My first job out of school was to clean up operating theatres after surgery. I know what it smells like when a 70 year old man gets a trans-urethral resectioning of the prostate. It's like a more serious version of raw prawns that have been sitting in the sun for a few hours (if you're curious).

A few years on, I worked in a paternity testing lab. I know what it smells like when a man goes for three days without washing, changing their clothes or sobering up, while they wait for us to tell him if those kids he raised belong to him. It smells how you think it would, with added ammonia.

The week before last, I smelled a smell that could only be described as a dead body. It had been hot for a few days after a couple of weeks of rainy weather, and the air was constantly humid and still. I didn't know where the smell was coming from, but I got a waft of it whenever I was on my way home.

I didn't think too hard about it for the first couple of days, the council should find it and clean it up if there's anything too major, so I left it be.

On Friday night, a few friends came over for some drinks. One of them showed up, extremely pale, asking what the fuck that smell was. I jokingly said it was a dead body, and he made a mad dash for the toilet. He didn't come out for twenty minutes. I wouldn't have joked about it if I'd known what was coming.

The next day, I decided to check out the vacant block near my house. It seemed to be where the smell was coming from. The closer I got, the harder it was to breathe without retching. Holding my shirt over my face and breathing through my mouth just made it worse, I could feel raw filth particles landing on my tongue. I noticed a bin near the fence that had bricks on top of it. Despite my constant retching, my stomach managed to jump even further past my heart. I realised that maybe my jokes had been more than a little prophetic.

After talking to a few other people about it (should I call the cops? if it isn't a body I'm wasting their time, if it is a body I'll probably get questioned like a suspect), I decided to investigate. I found a stick nearby and held it over the fence, and pushed the bin over. I was dreading what I would find, but I knew that the only way to end this would be to tip the bin over, in broad daylight, surrounded by pedestrians. If the worst happened and the police thought I was involved, at least my story would get validated.

Despite my worst fears, however, nothing prepared me for what was actually inside.

SHITRAGS:


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I got my photo and got the hell out of there as soon as I could - once the bin fell over the street emptied in seconds. The pub on the corner was probably really happy when a bunch of people ran in there, but they would have only been happy for a few minutes. The smell must have got there too.

Looking back at the photo, I am struck by one thing more than any other: The canvas shopping bag that says "GO GREEN!" on it. I did, I can assure you.

I have experienced a lot of smells in my life. My current work requires that I have ongoing wine education. Throughout my working life I have had to communicate a broad range of flavours and scents.

I can only think of three words that could possibly be used to describe this smell: Thick, deathlike and heavy.