VTC Field Trip To East Island Waste Treatment Facility (SOLD OUT)

Given the general apathy in Hong Kong towards most forms of extra-curricular indulgence, I was stunned to learn that an Institute Of Vocational Education (IVE) wide trip to the East Island waste recycling plant had sold out within a matter of fourteen hours. We had a shit factory in Arbroath also. It was right next to and often mistaken for our local team’s football ground.

Asides from the culture of apathy, the general disgust towards all things unhygienic here should surely have rendered this trip unsellable; but that does not seem to be the case. I guess to an extent I can understand it. I for one am not entirely ashamed of my shit. On average, during any one visit to the toilet I’ll spend around twenty minutes hovering over my latest excretions digesting a good book or ruminating over the day’s news. I also have the Germanic propensity to have a wee check on my daily log before sending it to ‘shit-nirvana’ down by the seaside.

That is however, where I believe my association with and ownership of my product ends. I am satisfied with my role in the creation of the object and, with Marxian obedience, content to see it move along the processing line. I don’t think I want to be reunited a couple of days later when I see those last bites of corn being hammered mercilessly into an unbreakable container without thought for the care and attention that went into its production. To see it then heartlessly trucked over to the gargantuan landfill in which it will be forever hidden from the eyes and consciousness of all humanity might just be too much to bear.

Now you may think this is some Freudian backlash but I never played with my shit as a child and was potty trained to the strictest and most oppressive of standards. The high level of cleanliness I adhere to is in no way connected to the fact I still wet the bed at night or struggle to make new friends. Who believes in Freud anyway? He wanted to have sex with his mother.

Anyway, so intrigued was I by the fervency accorded to the trip to the shit factory that I emailed the VTC pleading and begging for the opportunity to attend the trip. After seventeen rejections and a similar number of responsive pleas citing journalistic intrigue, they finally reneged. They seemed content after I indicated my willingness to make my own way there; frankly those bus seats are just too dirty for my liking.

So in a couple of days time I will be going to the shit factory down on the island. I sure hope there is a gift shop! I’ve been eating a combination of fresh roasted beetroot and orange juice in the hope that my unique specimens will be easily identifiable during my visit! I have photographed a few of them for reference in case there are any doubters amongst my colleagues.

I must confess to one slight thing of course. I decided to keep one back from the shit factory. A little known fact about post-beetroot faeces is that it is an exceptionally pliable medium! In my enthusiasm at this finding I moulded one specimen into a pretzel; the majority of which remains edible.

So I shall report back on my trip to the shit factory. For now, I am going to observe my neighbour in the opposite block. She is dangling precariously from a 12th floor window attempting to clean its external façade. Am sure that crank Freud would have a field day with that too!