We all are afraid of something. It might be the dark or it might be the imaginary monster under the bed. I have my own share of phobias. Some of them are common and some phobias are stranger than fiction. I don’t suffer from arachnophobia. I don’t like spiders but I never will say I have a phobia of them. If you say you don’t have a fear of anything then I don’t believe you. We’re all afraid of something.
I mentioned my fear of people in bunny costumes. Still never found a scientific name for it but its real. I know there are other people out there who suffer from the same dread when they visit theme parks and spot the Easter Bunny hopping around. My fear, the one I am going to discuss now, stems from a movie. Since watching that movie and even having a run in with said fear, I am worried when I am near it. My imagination runs wild and I start having very strange thoughts. Sucks having an over active imagination. Simple things become much more than they actually are.
My fear began when I watched, Child’s Play 3. It is the iconic scene when the trash man gets killed by Chucky. Do you remember it? Do you remember how he died? There are clips on youtube but they are all pretty bad quality and I am not about to put a video on here just to put a video on here. The scene plays out where the garbage man goes in the trash bin to looks for a man whose voice he heard. The voice was Chucky playing a trick on him. yada…yada…yada…the man gets crushed alive inside the trash compactor. Does that not shake you to the core? That shit scared me. Not the movie but the idea of being crushed alive inside a trash compactor still haunts me.
Maybe it is a silly phobia to have but we all have to be scared of something and getting crushed is. I did almost get killed by a compactor at work. I can blame myself for being stupid and not using my head. I cannot blame work for anything. It was my lack of common sense and stupidity that almost ended my life. I was working with a gal named Lisa. We were throwing trash away down the chute. Like always, the chute was full and it needed a kick to get the trash moving. I leaped inside the chute and started kicking at the trash bags. It wasn’t budging. I tried again and again but nothing would budge. I would have left it but we had a manager there that night who liked to play dictator and scolded people who didn’t compact the trash correctly. So I tell Lisa to press the green button. The green button means, “start’ and that gets the trash moving a little. It still needed a few kicks to unjam the trash and I was there to get it taken care of. Sure enough, the trash goes and I start going to. I am losing my grip and my balance inside the chute and as the trash begins to finally give away and fall into the bin below, I slowly start sliding down the chute as well. I scream to Lisa to stop the machine! To stop the crushing device because I don’t want to effin’ die. Lisa replies to me with a word that turned me white as a ghost. Replying to my request to stop the machine, Lisa says,
How do I turn it off?
WTF!? You serious!? It’s the big red button. Red means stop. Red also means to not let Kirk get crushed inside a metal box. That night may have been the first night I smoked a cigarette. I almost died. I think a cigarette was well deserved. Now that was a lesson well learned. I refrain from jumping inside compactors anymore and will not even if the Lord himself comes down and tells me to. I am not getting inside that crushing machine just because you tossed away something you shouldn’t have. It’s gone. You’re not getting it back. If you want it back that badly, then I suggest you risk your life inside the trash compactor and pray that a possessed doll with the soul of a serial killer doesn’t decide to turn the key… while you’re inside searching for some item you think is of high importance.
The worst part of this fear isn’t just the fear of dying inside one. My imagination runs wild at times and I will start seeing it playing out inside my head. I will see myself inside the compactor. I am in the far back of the compactor. I am so far from the opening that there is just darkness with only a few speckles of light coming from tiny cracks within the walls. I hear the compactor start up. I won’t make it in time. I need to climb over bag and bags of trash before I can reach the entrance. Climbing these bags, I can start seeing light from the outside of the compactor. Not much further and I’ll be able to climb out and be safe back on solid ground. I’ll need to climb the chute with no bars or anything to grab on to. I’ll have to shimmy up it and hope that the surface is dry and not soaked in grease, oil, and slime. But I am too far back. I am short on time. The light from the opening is no more. I become entombed inside the metal box of death. I don’t make it. I start getting crushed. I feel my bones snap. I feel the pressure crushing every inch of me till there is nothing left but the faint echo of my blood curdling scream.
This doesn’t always happen. I don’t always imagine this but on certain days I will. I will walk away from the trash compactor as I hear it crushing boxes and bags of trash. There, I start to think about the pain I would endure if I were to ever be trapped inside. Being inside those things to me, will be like being in space. No one will hear you scream. No one will know I am in there. It’ll be some Mr. nobody I work with who will see the open door. He’ll press that green button and shut the door. The thought of someone inside the compactor won’t even cross his mind. While he’s off being a busy body, I am off being a dead body. Please don’t close the door to the compactor unless you are positively sure that there is no one inside.
pitweston
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