There’s always that one particular thing that makes you feel queasy. For me, it’s diced white onions that have been left in a bag for a while. Heat, humidity, long storage – all of those factors speed up what is essentially a process of decay, leaving you with limp, sweaty, sulphurous nodules that smell and taste as putrid as factory sludge. I’m fussier about cucumber and I’m genuinely scared of ice (a good phobia does keep you on your toes), but there’s nothing on this earth I find more pronouncedly dis-gus-ting as the onions above.
Snivelling little shit, you might think. If that’s what you find disgusting, you must’ve had a charmed life. And you’d be right – I have a silly little job where I sit at a keyboard all day typing blah-de-blah-de-blah; my hands uncalloused, my senses delicate. But disgust is hardwired into all of us, even those who, by virtue of their profession, have to get their hands dirty on a more regular basis. That sensation has to go somewhere else, somewhere strange and unexpected. But where?
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Name: Andy
Profession: Sewage drainage and disposal, Dover.
Routine: Work Activities Filling pipes, reservoirs and septic tanks with water to disperse sewage; draining said water to clean area; disposing of waste.
Objects of Disgust: Bins
Comment ‘Can’t go near bins at all, hate them. Liquid waste, that’s fine. But not bins.’
