You are here: Home » A Heap of Trouble, a true police story
Nico and Christopher clowning around. July 17, 2023.
July 21, 2023
I'm dragging my heavy boots through this trash-ridden floor of newspapers, old used fast food bags, and other ungodly filth. Thankfully, it's daylight, and I can see what is around me. Give me sunlight any day over a Streamlight flashlight in the middle of the night. No matter how long I do this job, I'm always amazed at how some people live. Bugs and feces around this dwelling are as common as houseplants for some. These walks are always different, though. One must always determine what to expect from a hoarder because you never know what they kept. Most of the time, it's momentous. Other times hazardous. It is worse than what you have seen on television. It's like standing in Satan's pit.
I must turn my body sideways and weave like a snake around this towering clutter. This is when my gun belt is truly unnecessary. My gun holster and weapons are like giant hooks the trash can cling to. There are many carved-out walkways that I could have taken. But I am traveling the path towards my partner. When I reached the end of my path, I met with an officer I almost missed due to all the rubbish. He looked exasperated. His white flesh was even whiter, like paste. He was perspiring. I saw that he was leaning against a wall with no trash pile. It was odd, really, to see this space. The officer's baseball cap was tilted upwards. His left leg was bent, his shoe flat against the wall, and his left hand resting on his bent knee while his right hand wiped the sweat off his forehead.
"What's up," I asked. The officer removed his baseball cap and used the sleeve of his uniform shirt to wipe the rest of the sweat off his face.
"I don't know how to explain it," he began, "you have to look for yourself."
"Look where, "I said incredulously.
He put his baseball cap back on his head. He pulled the brim below his nose, his hand blocking his face. He slowly lifted the hat back up and even the headband above his eyebrows.
"There," he pointed, "above that trash pile and below the top of the doorway."
"You want me to climb this mountain of filth like it's some sort of peak?"
"You don't have a choice; you gotta see for yourself, sarge," he stated.
"Alright, well, have the flag ready for me to plant when I reach the summit."
I squared my shoulders toward the heaping pile of trash and clutter, looking for a solid place to offer me some stabilization. My left foot sank into the rubbish until only my heel and ankle were visible. I leaned into the trash and searched for an area I could grab. I settled for the doorjamb molding. I lunged with my right foot slightly above my left knee, but my weight only compressed the trash. My right leg began to sink further down as a small amount of surrounding trash cascaded down on top of me. After the tiny avalanche of trash settled, I could hear a muffled sound. I didn't move further. I turned my head slightly. My nose touched some old newspaper, and my right ear pointed toward the noise. I went silent as I attempted to make out the muffled noise I could barely hear. On the other side of the trash, I could hear the muffled sound of a clapping audience from an indistinct game show. Then there was a muffled voice and some grunting, "What's that sound? Is there a person over there? I inquired. "You gotta see for yourself. You just gotta." The officer said in disbelief.
Feeling defeated, I looked upward at the top of the trash hill. Just charge up that hill, I said to myself.
Left, right, left, right, I pumped my legs.
Driving my body upwards, crushing and compacting the trash with each step, I was making my climb sturdier. Almost there, to the peak, before I slid back to the base, I lunged forward and, like a swimming breaststroke, plunged my hands at the top and grabbed both sides of the doorway. I pumped my legs as trash was shot out from beneath the soles of my boots until I got enough of my body over the top and leaned into the room. This was the ultimate Stairmaster work. Left, right, left, right, I pumped my legs, worked my feet, bent my knees. There it was. I saw what he was talking about when I reached the summit.
At first, I could not believe what I was looking at. Was the sweat in my eyes causing them to blur? Was there toxicity in the air causing me to hallucinate? I concentrated and focused hard, like looking through a microscope at a sample slide. But sure as heck, there it was. A man's head sticking up through a layered trash pile that appeared to be decapitated from its body. However, he was alive. The rest of his body, from the chest down, was buried and tightly packed from years of old trash. I was practically looking at a landfill. There was no bed, dresser, or furniture to be seen. It was absorbed by this insurmountable amount of trash. The man was also one with this trash. He didn't look human anymore. He wasn't talking, laughing. He only shrieked like a wild animal in a zoo. I knew it was definitely human, though. He was a very large, wide, and heavy human because, with every bellow and rumble from his movement, there was a large circumference around him that was dethatched from the rest of the heap. His arms were bent like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. His little hands can grab the wrapped Burger King and McDonald's hamburgers. The man in the pit's only friend would stop and give him the food from afar. I looked around at everything going on in that one spot. How did he live so long under these conditions? He never moved: Not showering, shaving, or even using the bathroom. He melted into the permanent foundation of this home. Where do we even begin to get him out?
I turned around and slid down the trash. I looked at my officer and said, "Let's go, I need water and fresh air."
As we made our way out, the man in the pit inside the room bellowed and made arching noises like a seal. He thought we were leaving him behind because we didn't leave food. I don't know. The only thing I truly knew was that we had to get fire rescue there and cut him out. But that is a story for another time.
1,118 words
Hoarder help: https://www.helpguide.org/articles/anxiety/hoarding-disorder-help-for-hoarders.htm
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Max and Blake enjoying Key West, July 9, 2023.
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