The Delightful Story of How Scum and Bag Got Their Names

The summer between high school graduation and freshman year of college, my friend Erik told me that he had heard that we might be able to get jobs at the California State Fair during its three-week run, thus potentially making some good cash right before heading off to college.

Any kind of cash is good when you're 18, but good cash is even better...

Of course, when you're 18, you really don't have any idea what price your soul might have to pay down the road...

One afternoon early that summer we headed over to Cal Expo in Sacramento and officially filled out applications. We indicated that we'd take anything they had available, and would work any time shift for the entire 21-day run starting in early August.

Idiots.

Of course, it's not a surprise now considering how available we made ourselves on the applications, but we got the jobs. Oh did we get the jobs. It's just...well...they were on the garbage crew. During the graveyard shift. 12am to 10am. For 21 straight days.

But, being young, verile, yes even stupid kids, we said, "No problem!" and jumped in with both Air Jordan-adorned feet.

We were nervous as we arrived at 11:45pm on the opening day of the State Fair, flashing our badges at the back gate entrance and then walking through the park as it shut down toward the employee area. It was there that we got our assignments: I would be in charge of emptying and relining every garbage can in the entire park, and Erik was on "bathroom duty." At first glance, we both agreed that Erik had gotten the sewage covered end of that stick...

So for the next few weeks Erik would stop by my house around 11:30pm, we'd stop off at AM/PM to get some Jolt Colas for lunch (at 4am) and then slog across the park toward our final destination: fecal and vomit splattered hell.

They gave me a shopping cart loaded with garbage bags, and I had to roll that baby to every single one of the 600-800 cans  in the park, pull out the full garbage bag, tie it up, then re-line it with a fresh one. Some of this wasn't actually so bad - there were some sections of the grounds that were actually quite beautiful, and, being all alone, there were times when it was practically peaceful, relaxing, easy.

And then, of course, there would be the frightening part of the park - typically near the corn dog and deep fried lard nugget stands - which would inevitably be rimmed with fresh vomit.

Thus began Erik and my countdown to the end of the Fair.

Of course, even this wasn't the worst thing about my job. 50% of my area was relatively fine, but the other 50% was in the games and rides part of the park: Carneys. And, Carney's don't go home to sleep. The Fair is their home. They sleep, eat, piss, shit, fuck and whittle right there in their retarded b.s. toss-off game of chance booth. And every booth has its own garbage can.

No 18 year old sheltered virgin should ever be made to interrupt a group of carneys around a blacktop bonfire shooting heroin and comparing oozing sores to politely ask if he could empty their garbage can, please fine sirs and madams. I would say that this was the precise moment I lost my religion for life if I hadn't already lost it a decade earlier (another unrelated Carney incident...).

Still, as bad as all this was, it pains me to admit that Erik's experience was exponentially worse. His team would attack each bathroom with a tankard of simple green and somehow force a literal cesspool into submission. People relieving themselves on the floor, fecal matter smudges on the walls and ceiling, urine clowns who shared laughter by peeing on everything that anyone has to touch, projectile vomit, coldly tossed tampons, diapers, condoms...it was all bad. But the one thing that stuck with me from Erik's experience was on day 2 when we met for lunch at 4am, Erik was shivering with fright and mumbling, "I hope I never see another pubic hair in my entire life." People are animals.

Around 7 or 8am, both he and I would typically finish our rounds and the crew chief would then reassign us to do random jobs: make a sweep of the entire perimeter of Cal Expo (miles around) and pick up garbage by hand, clean windows, whatever he could think of. A few times, however, Erik and I got to ride together with a couple other guys on a pickup truck as it drove around and picked up all my tied up garbage bags. It was on the first of a number of these routes that we encountered Scum and Bag.

You see, Erik and I were fortunate enough to be educated, accepted into college, looking toward bright futures. Our stop at the State Fair was unequivocally a one-time deal. It would NEVER happen again. That was for sure. But perhaps the most valuable thing about this experience was getting to know many of our co-workers who weren't as fortunate. Who considered themselves extremely lucky to have secured such a good job. Who were frightened what they would do next when the Fair ended. Many of these people were good souls that mentored us, were extremely hard workers, and were honorably dedicated to make their lives and those of their families better. It was humbling being around these people.

But Scum and Bag were different. They were kids - like us - who didn't have promising futures, but were simply passively satisfied being complete and utter imbeciles. Instead of being in awe of their humility, we were in awe that they had somehow managed to stay alive to the age of 20 or however old they were. They didn't work, they slouched off at every opportunity while everyone else did, and they complained and whined incessantly. We didn't actually know their real names, but I definitely remember how they earned the ones we gave them...

It happened on this first ride around the park sharing the back of the pickup, the four of us perched up on a gigantic mountain of garbage bags. Erik and I were in silence, smelling the acrid reek of the crap around us, our minds numb to the early morning exhaustion - physically and mentally. But these two other guys were laughing and joking like they were heading to a tailgating party. Every time the truck stopped for one of us to hop off, grab a bag and toss it back on the bed, those two wouldn't move an inch and Erik and I ended up doing all the work.

Finally, one of the guys pats his pockets and then looks at us, "Either of you guys have a smoke?"

"No, sorry," we said in unison.

He was clearly distraught. He put his hands on his head and leaned forward in a state of agony...but as he did so he noticed something through the lining of one of the garbage bags we were sitting on. Like a cat pouncing on a mouse, he leapt forward on hands and knees, poked his fingers through the mylar, ripped open a hole, put his hand right into the slimy mess and pulled out a bent, but unsmoked, cigarette. He held it up, apparently for all of us to proclaim his innate regal studliness, wiped it on his jeans, briefly reshaped it back into something resembling a cigarette, and then lit that baby up and took a long drag.

Erik looked at me and our dual gaping mouths told the whole story. This idiot had just pulled a discarded, likely AIDS, anal warts and gonorrhea-covered cigarette from the bottom of a disgusting state fair garbage bag, and joyfully stuck it right in his mouth.

Scummy.

Suddenly, the guy passed it over to his friend, and, without hesitation, even he sucked in a double-lungful of cancer and blew it out with an orgasmic, "Ooooooooh yeeeeeeeeah!!!"

Baggy.

Ladies and gentlemen: Scum and Bag.

This story so disturbs me and has for years, that there are two things I must state at this point. First, I truly apologize for having written it down so others might read it. I didn't deserve to experience it, and you for sure didn't deserve to read it. And second, is it really any surprise that I don't like people?

But the only reason I even thought of this story for the first time in years, is because Scum and Bag have been reanimated in the form of Survivor's Jimmy T. and DanOnka. To be fair, DanOnka is technically a complete Scumbag entirely on her own. Gotta give credit where credit is due.

However, with much of the focus this week on psycho Jimmy T., he did remind me a little of Bag. Bag: always wanting to be Scum, but never getting the opportunity, and never understanding that in life you have to make the opportunity, not simply wait around smoking AIDS cigarettes and whining about it.

The one thing Jimmy T. did do on his own was dig his own grave. When he whined to Tyrone about wanting the leadership role after the tribe lost, Tyrone showed incredible restraint and integrity by not reminding Jimmy T. how much he had just sucked in the challenge a mere 30 minutes earlier. Instead, Tyrone asked him if he thought he could have done better in a different role. Brilliant. Keep all the crazytalk focus on Jimmy T. And that's exactly how it all went down.

But on the Scum side, DanOnka appears to have some perceived power because she has the immunity idol. This is a problem. As I stated last week, normally I love drama. But DanOnka is all bad juju - she has disgust for the girl with one leg, disdain for the one-legged girl, and pure, unrestrained, heartfelt hatred for Senorita Una Leg. Scumbag.

Let's keep our fingers crossed that Scumbag lights up a gonorrhea stick in the next couple weeks. Speaking from experience, the rest of us would be much better off if she was off the island and instead perched in the back of a garbage truck surrounded by heaping metaphors of her personality.

By the way, my salary for the duration of that State Fair gig? $5.60/hour. Before taxes.