Interior Design
Living in a Pit of Shit
As told to Kindra Woodson

We changed the names so no one gets fired or angry.


I'm an Environmental Health Practitioner. I go around and inspect restaurants to make sure they comply with county health ordinances. I also inspect septic systems and water wells to make sure they're installed correctly. I started off doing nuisance complaints. I'd go check out houses, apartments and properties when someone (usually a neighbor) filed a complaint with my office. Unsanitary living conditions are the worst to inspect. If someone's smelling garbage or animal feces all over the place, then I'd go check that shit out.

One sticks out in my mind. It was fucking insane. The homeowners' association complained about this house in a letter. They said they only saw the owner once or twice a year, when he'd come to get his mail. So I went to check the place out. It looked horrible and dilapidated, rusted cars everywhere, huge holes in the roof. I walked up and knocked on the door, waited a bit, and no one came. So I was like, That confirms it's abandoned. So I started walking around outside, taking pictures and writing down notes.

After about ten minutes the door flies open and this creepy dude comes out. He was all skinny, pale and Munsters looking, like he was about to die. And I yelled, “Oh shit!” because he scared the hell out of me. And he's like, “Excuse me?” And I said, “Sorry. I was frightened. I didn't think anyone lived here.” “I live here,” he said. So I introduced myself and told him the health department was investigating a complaint. And the dude goes, “Oh yeah. I haven't mowed the lawn in awhile.” Uuhm, I thought to myself, That's not why I'm here buddy. I knew it was going to be bad.

He was greasy and strung-out and stank like stale cigarettes. He opened the door to let me in. It smelled horrible. His chest stuck out in a big bump. I think it was barrel chest; like his chest grew out because his lungs had become all deformed from smoking too much and breathing in shithole stink all day.

I had a little look around inside from the front door. It was totally fucking trashed. When the places are really bad we have to have two people check them out for proper documentation. I told him I'd have to come back with another inspector, but we could walk around the exterior. I pointed out the huge hole in the roof (it was like six feet by three feet!) and the deck collapsed in the back. He said he was going to burn the deck and took me back in the woods to show me the burn pile.

On my second trip, we got the full illustrious tour of the place. It was a fucking shithole. There's a hole in the ceiling you could crawl through. It smelled like nasty stale house, horrible stale smell, dirt and fucking nastiness. The fridge wasn't working and was full of rotting food; maggots, spiders and fruit flies. At first I didn't realize it wasn't working; I opened it up: How the fuck can spiders survive in a refrigerator? Then the stench hit me, and I realized it was broken.

After that we had to walk over beer cans and garbage everywhere (literally stacks of fucking trash!) to make our way to his “office”, which consisted of a computer and a few thousand beer cans all over the floor. I don't think he got too much work done in there.

Next stop was the spare bedroom. I noticed that the ceiling was falling in and pointed it out to him. “Fuck, I didn't notice that before,” he told me.

We went to the master bedroom. He didn't sleep in there anymore because it was completely covered in cat shit and piss. Like, EVERYWHERE. That cat must've had the run of the place, if there even was a cat. Maybe it was dead in there somewhere. Surprisingly it didn't smell too bad because all the shit and piss was long dried. “Ted, where's the cat at?” I asked him. And listen to this. He goes, “It likes to hide when there's company over.” When's the last time you had company? I thought. I kinda figured it hadn't been for awhile.

I checked out the bathroom. The toilet and sink didn't work, and there were newspapers everywhere all over the floor. It looked like he'd been peeing on them. It didn't look like there was any human poo in there. I think he pooed in the upstairs toilet; it worked sometimes. One time I was there and the upstairs toilet didn't look too bad; another time it was almost overflowing with shit. There was a hole in the ceiling upstairs, too, only about a foot by three inches. Just a slit in the ceiling to the open air. You could see where all the rainwater and other crap came in and stained the drywall. I'm surprised there weren't squirrels and chipmunks everywhere. He claimed there were mice every once in awhile. They probably built a fortress under all the garbage.

Last, we checked out the basement; that's where he slept on this piece of shit recliner. It's like a little (barely) upholstered oasis in a sea of fucking trash. And beer cans. Jesus, there were a lot of beer cans. And a working TV stacked on a broken one. He claimed he had a working washer and dryer, but he always looked like a bum when I saw him.

I've been there five or six times now. Each time I tell him to clean it up, and each time he says, “I'm on top of it, Dan.” And each time it doesn't happen. Last time I was there, I told him if it wasn't cleaned up in a month the county would come in and figure out the cost of clean up. If it costs more to clean it up than it does to demolish it, they're just going to demolish it. (The State's Attorney made me say that). Maybe that'll kick him into gear. I feel bad for the dude, but there's nothing I can really do about it. I don't want him staying at my house, you know?

It'll probably be demolished because it would cost a shitload to clean it up. He'll probably be out on the street. He has a brother that helped him clean it up once, but he probably won't come back. I wouldn't be surprised if he kills himself. He doesn't have any friends or family other than the brother, and I don't think our county has any psych treatment programs that he could get into.

He claims he's an electrical engineer. His last job was delivering newspapers, but he lost that. He says he's paying off the mortgage, but I don't know where the money comes from. I'd love to see the reaction from someone from the bank that comes to assess this place, like, “What…the…FUCK!”

He must go out at night to get food and beer because no one ever sees him. Last time we were there we told him to check his mail, and he came out scratching his head. Look at this fucking weirdo, I thought. It was like a vampire coming out in the daytime to do errands. Light's not Ted's friend; let's put it that way. The darker the better.

I was trying to ask questions to figure out how this all happened. I asked when the trash started piling up, and he said about five years ago. I asked if anyone ever lived with him. He said he'd had a girlfriend that lived there, but she left about five years ago. I figure his girlfriend left him and he went a little cuckoo.