It Is a Dirty Job, and Somebody Does Do It

The first time Roy Parrino held his breath and was lowered into a dark, dank sewer line, he emerged with a two-carat topaz ring, which his wife wears to this day. But unexpected discoveries of jewelry are the only glamorous perks in Parrino’s job as a sewage maintenance worker who helps care for the labyrinth of waste-laden pipes beneath Orange County.

Otherwise, it’s a thankless job. Parrino and 11 workers spend most of their time in the 650 miles of sewers owned by the Orange County Sanitation District. There, they brave toxic fumes and discarded syringes to sift through the stench of filthy muck that contains everything that goes down toilets, kitchen sinks, washers and other drains, from melon rinds to the occasional bicycle.

Left uncleaned, the pipes would soon clog with solid waste, causing a sewage backup and possibly yet another fouling of Orange County’s coastal waters. All of the 30 beach closures in the county this year were caused by problems with sewer lines.

All this environmental grief--and the biggest culprits, as any sewer worker could tell you, are as mundane as a lunch menu. Coffee grounds, bacon fat and eggshells from kitchen sinks. And undigested kernels of corn.

The concrete trunk line Parrino worked on one recent day is one of the sanitation district’s 143 high-maintenance spots--chronic problem areas that are cleaned as often as once a month.

An automobile could drive through the reinforced concrete line that runs under Bushard Street in Fountain Valley. It’s 78 inches in diameter, carrying sewage from nearly all of northern Orange County to a treatment plant in Huntington Beach. Just south of Garfield Avenue, it crosses over a flood control channel. The waste water is forced into four 30-inch lines above the channel for about 20 feet.

Parrino and his three-man crew divert all the water so it flows through one of those lines, the one they want to clean.

They lower a tire on a rope, which the rushing water pushes into the line. The tire acts like the plunger in a hypodermic needle, pushing the stagnant grit in the pipe to the far end of the line.

The crew has moved there, waiting to pull the muck out of the line.

Parrino is now a supervisor and goes into the lines less often than he used to. The crew rotates, and this day is Juan Ambriz’s turn to go down. The 32-year-old Orange resident and father of three will go into the large trunk line and shovel grit from the 30-inch line into a plastic bucket that crew members dump into a trailer bed.

The 300-pound manhole cover is lifted and clean air is pumped into the line so that Ambriz will not be overcome by noxious fumes. Wearing hip waders, a hard hat, goggles and latex gloves, Ambriz is harnessed to a tripod above ground and lowered 15 feet underground.

“You really have to psych your mind up for it,” Parrino said. “Remember, you’re going into the filthiest environment there is.”

The rancid water is about four feet deep, rushing with more force than many creeks in the county. Parrino provides the only light down there by using a small mirror to reflect the sun. Ambriz stays down for about 30 minutes, until a gas reader starts beeping because of a buildup of deadly hydrogen sulfide gas.

This fatal gas is a naturally occurring byproduct of sewage. It’s one of the many hazards in this line of work. “It’s a lot more dangerous that a lot of people think,” Parrino said.

There are traffic worries: constant carbon monoxide exposure and the physical threat of cars speeding by while the crew is working in the middle of the road. The pipes have limited oxygen supply. The sewage often contains used syringes as well as the invisible threats of bacteria and disease.

Less threatening, but no less annoying, are the passersby.

“We get stuff thrown at us all the time,” said Parrino. “During graduation [time], these kids came out and threw eggs at us.”

Some drivers mistake them for Caltrans workers and shout unprintable names.

Dangerous conditions, thankless work and low pay (beginning workers who spend the most time in the lines make $11 per hour) result in a lot of turnover. Parrino, after 12 years, has topped at $25 per hour.

“I know they think we’re not skilled or whatever, but there’s a lot more to it than a lot of people think,” the 52-year-old said. He notes that workers must have strong math skills to calculate spill amounts and be able to read blueprints to find sewer lines.

After graduating from high school, Parrino worked at or owned businesses in a variety of fields: meatpacking, automotive repair, camera equipment sales. About 12 years ago, after a yogurt shop in Newport Beach failed--”that was a real loser”--Parrino turned to sanitation work because of job security and a shortened workweek. When he was told to report to “collections,” he thought he might be billing customers.

“It sounded pretty good. I didn’t know what I was getting into,” the Corona resident said. “It’s about as dirty as you can get; it’s like being in a big toilet. You’ve got to look at it one way: Stuff washes off.”

Parrino’s topaz ring find was not unusual. In addition to seeing dentures, bikes and even shopping carts in the sewers, workers occasionally find rings, necklaces and bracelets inadvertently dropped in kitchen sinks and toilets. Near the former Marine Corps air station at Tustin, sewer workers used to regularly find diamond rings after Christmas time. Rumor has it that soldiers who dumped their girlfriends while home for the holidays would flush the rings down the toilets to show their peers how tough they were.

Despite these intriguing finds, Parrino said if he could go back in time, he doesn’t know if he would pick the same career path.

“If I had to do it all again, working in sewers,” he said, “I might think twice.”