Walking in a sanitation worker's shoes Lawrence Journal World
In the crowd of Lawrence trash truck crews, it is known as the dog feces story.
Actually, it is not known as the dog feces article, but trash truck language does not always translate word-for-word into family-newspaper phraseology.
Anyway, Lawrence trash truck loader Ross Smith is at a Lawrence veterinary clinic holding a bag of dog feces. Except he doesn’t identify it is dog feces until he throws it into the back of the big blue truck and starts putting the juice to that hydraulic blade that squeezes everything in its circuit.
“He hollered up to me and asked me for a paper towel,” trash truck operator Tommy Taylor remembers. “I drive around and he had it all over. On his face. On his shirt. On his pants.”
“In my pockets,” Ross jumps in. “That’s probably the worst I’ve ever been sprayed with.”
In all probability.
• • •
So, here I am hanging off the back of a Lawrence trash truck heading down 23rd Street — and we’re turning into a vet clinic. Ross, hanging on the other side, gives me a nod. This is the district.
