Cleaning the Crap Tank, 1992, by Andrew Pache

From MemoryArchive

Who: Andrew Pache
What: Cleaning the Excrement Hold on Ship
When: 1992
Where: The Boatyard

The Shit Tank Story

Shit. The word is in use worldwide, and depending on context and intonation, can have many different meanings. The meaning of shit became much more than semantic for me one day in the summer of ’92. That day shit ceased to be a word, and became my entire world, my existence. In short, I became shit. The following, still very difficult for me to tell, is my story.

While still in college, I spent summers working for a cruise company, and when I wasn’t on the boats, I would work in the shipyard next door. Two of the boats would spend the winter in the Caribbean and come north in the summer to do trips around New England and Canada. Upon their return to more northern climes, the boats would be put on the dry dock and refitted. The Shit Tank Job is part of the refit. Due to Coast Guard regulations, ships cannot just dump sewage into the ocean near land. Thus, all large boats have as standard equipment a tank to keep this smelly cargo in. Shit is held here until it can be pumped off or until nightfall when it can be dumped illegally. Whatever. The fact is, someone has to climb into this small corner of Hell and scrub it out. No shit. Or more accurately, lots of shit, literally tons of it. People on a cruise tend to eat very well and as a result, the holding tank on one of these boats is quite large, easily large enough for two people to stand upright and move around in.

The night before, I was at a party drinking until about 4:00 AM. I showed up to work at 7:30 feeling somewhat less than my best. I staggered up the ladder into the ship and was immediately assaulted by the foul odor. “Ugh, f**k! You got The Hole open, eh? Today must be the big day.” I said to no one in particular. But the boss was looking at me a little strangely, almost as if he thought I would have to the one who has to do It. You see, I had been there for three summers and just by seniority, figured I would be exempt. And I was so hung over that I was longing for a mindless task like chipping rust off some cool, dark part of the boat. Instead I was hit in the face with a paper coverall and told to take this new guy, Chris, down to clean the Shit Tank. I was aghast. I couldn’t believe this was landing on me. There was no way on God’s green earth I could accomplish such a task given the shape I was in but, after lodging some incoherent protests, resigned myself to what was about to happen. The new guy was oblivious to his fate. I looked at his innocent, fresh, eager face, and felt a little sad. I personally had never had to go Down There, but friends of mine had. I had seen their faces upon emerging and they were different somehow, like they had Seen Beyond if you know what I mean. Chris, on his first day of work, was about to cross a serious threshold because obviously, I wouldn’t be the one entering the tank. I mean seniority still carried some privileges, right? We put on our white suits as well as some hard hats and grabbed a hose, a drop light and two garden hoes. Access to the Shit Tank was through the pump room, a small enclosure at the bottom of some steep stairs. The stench at this point was almost a living thing. As I explained what we had to do, Chris’ eyes got big and round. He started to gag at the top of the stairs and I pushed him down, cursing him viciously. I was in no mood to “mentor” anyone, I just wanted to get him set up in the hole and get out for some fresh air and a nap. He was the first one to puke and said something along the lines of “I can’t do this”. I told him to “Shut the f**k up and get in the hole.” He was terrified at this point, babbling like a fool. I tried reasoning with him, saying that the quicker we start the quicker we finish blah, blah, blah. He burbled some more puke on his suit and I saw it was useless. The Look was already creeping into his eyes after less than two minutes in the pump room. He was a weak soul and it was at this point that I knew nothing short of the hand of God was going to push this kid into the Shit Tank. I was the man, I would have to go. I convinced him to stay in the pump room and hand me stuff when I was in the Tank.

I stood back and looked into the gaping maw of the Abyss. The entrance was a 20-inch circle cut out of the ¼ steel bulkhead, about four feet off the deck. The circle was too small to step through so would entail an acrobatic, head first, twisting maneuver to worm through. It was ringed with shit. I poked my head through the hole and puked immediately. Inside the hole the smell was a solid object. I remember thinking that no self respecting oxygen molecule would hang out here if it didn’t have to. I reached to grab a pipe to pull on and once all my weight was on it, my hand promptly slipped off. I landed on my back in four inches of shit. I screamed as shit ran down the back of my neck and up my sleeves. I was rapidly losing my mind and became convinced I was going to die. I stood up and moved to the entrance only to see Chris running up the stairs like he had seen Satan himself. I yelled something disparaging after him and made the mistake of itching my nose with a hand that until 30 seconds before was encased in shit. Oh God, I thought, puking again. I reached out and grabbed the light and hose and noticed that the light cord was a little frayed. I hung the light from the ceiling and sprayed the far wall with the hose. There was so much water pressure in this hose that I probably could have peeled paint with it. The stream hit the back wall and ricocheted like a laser, scoring a perfect bull’s eye on the light, which dropped into the shit/water at my feet. As the frayed cord hit the water and the voltage began coursing through my body, I tried to think back and figure out what I could have possibly done in my life to deserve this. I threw the light out through the hole so violently that the bulb smashed, and The Shit Tank swallowed the meager light coming through the hole completely. I felt like I was living up someone’s ass. By now however, the transformation had begun. The stink wasn’t so noticeable anymore, and I began to do my horrible work in the pitch dark. I used the hoe to scrape the shit off the wall and rinsed (carefully) with the hose. Four hours later, I was shin deep in shitwater and almost finished. For some reason, I had left the ceiling for last. The roof of the Shit Tank was also the floor of the Main Deck so it was reinforced with C shaped steel supports. These were very shitty and I gave one a squirt with the hose. The beam of water entered the C, picked up all the shit there, did an abrupt U-turn and began its return journey towards my face. Because of the extreme smell, I was breathing through my wide-open mouth. The incredible speed of the water made my evasive reaction far too late to prevent tragedy, and the shitstream hit my face just as I was inhaling. I let out a noise, started to lose it again, and had to fight hard to maintain sanity. This was it, I had had enough. I was covered head to toe with shit, was bug-eyed with trauma and was quickly losing touch with reality. Desperate for sunshine and fresh air, I squeezed through the hole again, leaving a smelly splat mark on the floor. I climbed up the stairs and reeled like a lunatic through the dining room. Everyone else was eating lunch outside and they were horrified to see me, an apparition with shit-spiked hair and crazed eyes stumbling out of the ship. I collapsed in the dirt, breathing in the sweet air and already drawing flies. Chris was never seen again.

My children don’t stand a chance. Any complaint about any job they may have, will be met with a version of this story. I will be pitiless and uncaring. I was making $4.50 an hour at the time so even low pay will gain no sympathy. They can go cry to their mother. The sad truth is, I have done many terrifying, repulsive jobs and risked life and limb for peanuts. I could go on for pages with accounts of near-death and even some other shit related events. However, nothing has come close to the horror of that day. It changed me in a very fundamental way and I will never be the same again. No shit.