On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 20

, , , , | Right | November 17, 2020

It is a slow Monday night and only two of us are working in concessions, where we also sell tickets. There’s also a host working who lets people into the theatres and cleans them afterward.

Around 8:00 pm, a customer comes up to us and says it smells really bad of poo in the ladies’ rooms, and she thinks it’s coming from the stall furthest in. As the only female working, I’m the one who has to enter and check, and I discover that the customer is right. It reeks to the point that I get nauseated. Inside the stall, someone has taken their feces and smeared it all over the walls and floor and left the remains in a pile on the floor with some papers around. The only things not covered are the toilet and sink.

We don’t have cleaning staff in the evenings; instead, it’s us working concessions that check so the toilets have papers and soap. The thing I want to do is to lock the door and leave it to the cleaning staff the next morning, but because of the smell, I know I have to clean it up right this moment. I also realise that the things we put on when checking the toilets are not gonna cover what I am forced to do.

I go and get a roll of garbage bags and begin cutting and taping up my own version of a hazmat suit. I also go to the engine room and get a face protection mask that is meant for when one changes the lamps of a projector.

I bring all the strong cleaning supplies I can find and several buckets of hot water and take on the gruesome task of cleaning. Afterward, I not only throw away my homemade suit, but I also go to the changing room and change out of the uniform and get my regular sneakers to wear for the rest of the night. The clothes and work shoes all go in a plastic bag that I thoroughly seal before putting them in my bag.

When I get home, everything goes in the washer immediately and I hop into the shower and don’t leave until my entire body is red from scrubbing.

In the following days, the rumors of my struggle spread and people have a hard time believing it, up until a Friday evening around five months later when we are fully staffed and have full screens in every theatre. This time, it is in the men’s room, and I am sooo happy it’s not me dealing with it.

Seriously, what is wrong with people?

Related:
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 19
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 18
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 17
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 16
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 15

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