I worked for a large hotel one summer, and one of the things I had to do on occasion was to take stuff down to the trash dumpster. We would wheel these gigantic containers filled with all sorts of crap and food down on the freight elevator. The containers were a cross between a wheel barrow and a VW bug. The freight elevator was coated in this gray slime that smelled of rotting trash, and as you rode down the air would flow up with even more intense rotting trash stench. The dumpster was a compactor that was like a tractor trailer, and you would wheel the container over, balance it at the edge, and lift it till it tilted in and dumped the stuff. The stench at that point was horrendous, rivaled only by trash day in August on the lower east side of Manhattan, but far worse. Religion may be in decline in many places, but more people called out to Jesus there than anywhere else. Guys would vomit down there from breathing it in. After dumping you had to let the ooze run out, then get it to tilt back and pull it out of there, all while slipping and sliding on the gray slimy crust. I did go down a couple of times, and getting that on your work pants was unreal. The smell was always tinged with the stink of rotting oranges. I find I seldom eat oranges, but when I do, I remember every trip to that dumpster.
