Please, I beg of you, if you have a weak stomach, do NOT read on.
Still here? Ok, don’t say I didn’t warn you!
Those of you who know me, know that I have recently moved into the house of my recently deceased mother-in-law to raise her two young sons. There are several procedures done in this house that I have no experience with, but I am trying to keep up with them. For example, the garbage is a big one. Where I come from, when something is garbage, you throw it in a garbage bag and eventually take it out of the house. Here, they practice recycling and compost.
Now, it took me a while, but I got the hang of the recycling thing, and I don’t mind it. Compost, on the other hand, seems a bit disgusting, and rather pointless. The concept is, you take all food scraps (ie peelings, leftovers, cores, etc), place them in this bucket on the back porch, and then … well, there is supposed to be something else done with them, but nobody has made it clear to me exactly what that something is. I think compost is supposed to be good for the garden, but I am not a gardener, and neither are the kids.
So mostly the bucket stays by the door, getting more and more stinky icky things being put into it.
Cut to Sunday night. I’m getting the boys’ lunches ready for school the next day. They’re having carrot sticks. I take the carrot peelings out to the bucket and lift the lid. There is a bag of rotting plums on the lid (not placed there by me), so I am balancing the plums on the lid as I lift it, holding the screen door open with my foot, and trying to put the carrot peelings into the bucket. Understandably, some get dropped. Not wanting to leave them on the porch, I hold the lid with my left hand and start to pick up the pieces.
I start feeling icky warmness on my left hand. I pep-talked myself, imagining some moldy liquid goo dripping onto my hand from the lid, saying “Just hold on, it’ll be over in a second.” Then I realize the icky warmness is not moving like liquid goo, but more like something alive. ANTS! I think to myself, and at that point I am done the cleanup, whisking my hand quickly away to run inside and clean it off. I am really grossed out at this point.
I look at my hand. There are no ants on my hand. Not a one! Instead, there are dozens of these small, white, pulsing worm-like creatures - perhaps baby maggots? I freak out and rush to the sink, turning on scalding hot water to drown the fuckers. My heart is racing and I am just revolted beyond belief.
The next day, I threw the entire bucket in the garbage bag and took it down to the curb (thank God it was garbage day!). This process required rubber gloves (which I had) and a gas mask (which sadly, I didn’t). I have never been so shaky in my life. Not from fear, but from pure disgust. Disgust so large that it almost suffocated me.
I am not usually affected by smells much, but I was absolutely accosted as I attempted to put the bucket into the garbage bag, having to stop a few times to catch my breath. Unfortunately, the deeper I gasped, the more of the putrid air made its way into my lungs, so I had to move a few feet away to breathe properly - and then start all over when I got back. I finally had to take a deep breath and hold it, while the rancid air forced tears from my eyes till the job was done.
I almost feel sorry for the garbage men who had to take that bag away. It’s gone now, and I’m getting a bigger garbage can today, to hold ALL the garbage. No more compost at our house.