Many years ago, before I decided to study at university, I worked as a trainee technician in a diagnostic biochemistry lab. This was during the 1970s when you could gain a responsible position without a degree. My entry qualifications at the time were a modest 7 CSEs and 5 O'levels (GCEs)—the sort of qualifications that you get at 16. After gaining the position, I attended day-release college to obtain the relevant technical qualifications (ONC and HNC). It was a challenging series of courses spread over 5 years. College attendance was from 9am to 9pm, and once the exams were passed, you were eligible to enrol as a registered basic grade technician. Even as an 'apprentice', I received a decent salary plus additional money for out-of-hours on-call work. As can be imagined, I was young and stupid and spent much of my money on motorbikes, women, and beer- at least I didn't waste it. Regardless of the obstacles put forth by my stupidity, I eventually managed to satisfy the requirements and became fully qualified. Enough introduction.
On this particular day, I was busily analysing faecal samples from patients with gut disease. The analysis was primarily concerned with measuring fat content. I'm sure there are more sophisticated tests available today that don't involve delving unto the murky depths of someone's shit, but this was the mid-70s. Now, it could be thought by many that this job was rather unpleasant. And indeed, the smell was something to behold. That said, this was an analytical duty that I enjoyed performing for several reasons. First, most of my responsibilities in the lab involved working with autoanalysers. Blood samples from patients were transferred to the analyser's carousel, and I ensured that the reagent bottles contained sufficient chemicals. Once satisfied that all was good, a button was pressed. Later, the results were read off a graph, and that was that. I found the whole process tedious and unfulfilling. The testing of faeces was wholly different as the processes involved were not amenable to automatic analysis. Part of the process involved placing the faecal matter in retorts with a caustic chemical and subjecting the sample to reflux. The resulting liquor was then manually titrated using a burette. This was real chemistry involving several manual steps culminating in a calculation.
Before all the interesting stuff could be performed, the faeces needed to be rendered into a semi-liquid sludge. This was achieved by adding a measured amount of water to the faeces, which was transferred to a sizeable industrial-style blender. A lid was placed on top, and a switch flicked. The procedure was contained within the Sluice Room, where all the 'wet work' was done. Unfortunately, on this ill-favoured day, the rubber seal on the lid failed. This seal usually provided a perfect occlusion containing all the smelly grossness. I'm sure my readers can guess the sequel of events following the loss of perfect closure- O, woe is me... Within a microsecond, I was sprayed, from head to foot, with faeces, both liquid and semi-solid. Luckily/unluckily, I was close to the instrument of my misery, and with a hand beset with foul ordure, I reached and turned the source of my torment off. My cries of gross misfortune brought forth my colleagues. None would come too close, and I could hear barely suppressed giggles in the background.
The sluice room contained a shower, and I promptly shuffled in and turned it on to full power. Once most of the faeces had been removed, I stripped and had a long, hot shower. Spare clothes were found that were vaguely fitting. My colleagues, as one, came and helped in the subsequent cleanup. Overalls and rubberised boots were obtained from the 'Emergency Cupboard'. The sluice room was self-contained with a thick, durable vinyl floor that crept up the wall for about 30cm. The cleaning was completed within the hour. After a backup blender was found, I returned to work.
As an aside, back in the 1970s, 'Health and Safety' was not a concept yet inculcated into laboratory culture. Had the accident happened today, I would have had to complete a lengthy Incident Report, and a sample of the offending faeces would have been sent for testing for the presence of a myriad of diseases. After a suitable delay, I would have been tested for conditions such as Hep B and C.
After my mishap, the boss decided that a change in protocol was required. The blender was superseded by a stomacher system. Although it took longer to mulch faeces this way, it was deemed safer.
Moral of the story: Shit happens.
