oil refinery : mephitic manufactory

With the aid of a plastic milk crate, I was able to climb over the wobbly metal fence to enter the grounds of the oil refinery. Immediately outside the refinery were several trailers, all recently burned out, one partially, the others completely to the ground. Strewn everywhere were empty beer bottles and cans- thousands of them. The labels were in various stages of being parched pale by the sun. The scent of beer permeated the air and as I stepped closer to a rusted oil tank, I was hit by a most mephitic odor. I wouldn't step an inch closer to that tank, the odor and swirls of flies was all the information I needed to understand that this had been the toilet. I probably couldn't have stepped much closer anyway, because of the mounds of beer bottles everywhere. Apparently no one threw their empties very far.

Keeping a respectful distance from the smell, I peered into the most intact trailer. It was full of mattresses, clothes, shoes, and a slew of random junk- car seats, t.v.'s, barbecue grills, etc. Only a few weeks earlier, 'D.C.' had seen this trailer, full of homeless men, watching TV and drinking beer. He was shocked about the fires and the disappearance of the numerous residents. Judging from the depths of the beer bottles, they'd been living here for sometime.

I headed around the back of the building, snapping a few shots of the rusty tanks, their blue gray paint flaking off into the air. The flakes fell onto numerous cars in varying stages of being overhauled. All stolen, of course. Around the back was a large moving van that had evidence of being a home as well. A stinking mattress lay crooked inside with plenty of beer bottles wedged around it. It might have well been Octoberfest here, with such a variety of beer brands I saw laying around. At least the bottles of Guiness assured me that the residents had a good meal or two.

Beyond the large truck were a few more smaller vehicles, but the stench and the increasing number of flies held me back. Instead I headed toward a grassy, relatively fly-free area to an old dump truck. V.R. was ahead of me, walking forward to look in the cab. It was then I noticed a person inside. I just saw their head, and when my eyes focused, I saw that it was an old woman, her hair wrapped in a kerchief. She looked once at me, then ducked down slowly- I could almost feel her crawling inside herself with fear and imagined what terror she must have felt as a gang of strangers encroached on her hideout. As her head disappeared, I yelled out to V.R. that there was someone inside. He quickly retreated and when I explained what I saw, we turned away, hoping not to have given her too much of a fright. She was the only person we saw there that day and I wondered if someone would be returning to her.

We decided to head inside the main building. The nidorous odor emanating from the door almost held me back. After seeing the woman in the truck, the possibility that the smell might come from something human seemed too real. But as always, curiosity got the better of me and I headed inside.

I don't know exactly what the structure was for. In the large open space, huge tank-like contraptions resembling upside down jars with flip-top lids hung from the ceiling. What part these played in the refining process, with their lids on the bottom, I don't know. We were now in what appeared to be the main living area for the residents. Again, strewn everywhere were bottles and cans of beer, and dozens of jars of a curious red liquid labeled 'Aronia Juice.' Apparently it wasn't as popular as beer here, because the numerous bottles of it I saw were unopened.

There was an odd mix of old and new food strewn about this area, which also housed several filthy mattresses and a tan leather recliner. In the middle of the room was a green pan full of a putrid looking soup and several bowls around it held more of the mixture. Stale hunks of bread stood next to a very fresh looking orange and a large onion. The room was a strange sight- looking well-lived in and at the same time, abandoned. There was no evidence of fire in here, but I wasn't flipping over any mattresses for fear of finding the source of the smell.

In addition to the food, there was reading material. Several porno magazines were spread about displaying people spread about on the pages. So here in this stink-filled room was evidence of all the basic elements of life- shelter, food, drink and sex. Even the unfortunate seem to have scraped together the bare minimum. After seeing all we needed to see here, we headed down a rusty set of steps to look for more industrial goodies.

On the lower level was a garage-like room with a blue VW bug, now a receptacle for beer bottles (surprise). More mattresses lying about and more porn. I caught the title of one tape- 'World of Bondage II' and wondered how they watched these with no electricity, but D.C. reminded me the last time he was here they had some how rigged up a television. I didn't see 'World of Bondage I' lying about anywhere. Perhaps a rare case where the sequel is better?

In this garage was a crispy metal doorway, obviously suffering from severe water damage and when opened, we discovered why. The basement was completely flooded- it was nothing more than a stagnant pool of green water, steaming in the summer heat. After this, we'd had enough and returned outside, took a few shots of the massive oil tanks, felt better about our apartments, leapt over the fence and took deep, deep breaths.