Scary worksite
In 2007 I was contracted to work as a Support Worker for a Young Adult accommodation program in the glorious Eastern Suburbs. One of my clients was housed in a 2 bedroom house, which was owned by the state community services department, but was leased to a private, church-inspired organisation. My job was to hang out at this house, in the staff quarters, and wait for the adult client to come home with her "johns." (She was a former state ward, with an intellectual disability which limited her capacity to look after herself independently, hence the need for a support worker). She would have some company, and a bit of extra income, and we would document what he looked like, and whether he murdered us or not.

She wouldn't come home often - there were weeks where none of the staff had contact with her. It was weeks before I first met her. She hated the house, and so did the staff. Due to the "flexibility" within the Employment Award, I would be rostered on duty at this house for maybe four 24-hour blocks in a row. I might start at 3pm Monday, and not clock off (and go back to my own place) until 3pm Thursday. We were allowed 2 hours each day to leave the house, to buy food, or have a "break." Staff were rostered on alone, because it was a "one-on-one" placement, presuming that the staff would have the opportunity to develop quality, therapeutic relationships with the client, because there was only one client for staff to worry about.

This house had several large trees around it, but there were never any possums, which in hindsight I thought was weird, because every house in this city has possums, even in the CBD. I live in a block of hipster flats, so everyone encourages them onto the balcony with slices of organic, fair-trade fruit, and decaf soy lattes. They make a loud coughing noise, like old men with emphysema, and they fight on my roof. And shit on my car. They are the true "rats of the sky." This worksite, however, had nothing. Not even sparrows. The staff quarters were a bedroom, with a desk, and an ensuite. If you kept the windows open all year round, the stench of Glade Plugin teargas and body odour were bearable. The walls in the staff bedroom had staples all over them.

One evening, I was sitting at the desk, reading a book because of no internets. :( I was the only person in the house. For someone to be there with me, they would have to come in through the door, or through the skylight in the kitchen, because the windows had security bars on them. I heard a very angry, scratchy voice shout "Bitch" in my right ear. As if there was someone standing behind me. Scared me shitless. I didn't sleep at all that night. I didn't mention it to the next person on shift, even though we were pretty good friends, because I didn't want her to think I was nutty.

This co-worker phoned me one afternoon, several weeks later. She sounded really rattled, and I assumed it was because something had happened with the client, or one of her gentlemen callers, but no. My co-worker told me that she had been sitting on the bed with her laptop. She didn't have any music or sound playing, because it was necessary for us to hear if the client tried to sneak in through the skylight. She told me that she heard this really loud, horrible scream in her ear, as if someone was standing next to her. She was completely alone in the house, and was completely freaked out. I told her about the voice I'd heard. Somehow she calmed down enough to finish her three day block.

That house gave everyone on the team really bad vibes. We worked at a lot of sites where we were alone for days at a time, and none of us were freaked out at those sites in the way we were at this house. One of the staff attempted to "spiritually cleanse" the staff quarters, by burning sage and reciting prayers, but everyone still felt weird being in there. Several months after our contract to that property was finished, we were told by a manager that several years ago, the department placed a client in the house, with the client's bedroom being what was now the staff quarters. He'd had schizophrenia, which wasn't very well controlled with medication. He had stapled foiled all over the walls of his bedroom to stop people (aliens, government) reading his thoughts. Understandably, he had been very angry and miserable during his time there, and had eventually hanged himself in the ensuite.
(Boodicka, Sun 16 Sep 2012, 14:45, 8 replies)

Fuggala-muggala
wicked story. I don't know what scares me more - what happened in your story or the fact that your job existed in the 1st place.
Either way - well told.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Sun 16 Sep 2012, 16:28, closed)

Thankyou!
(Boodicka, Mon 17 Sep 2012, 15:41, closed)

Have I read this right?
Your job was to live with a person with diminished mental capacity and hide away to listen to any men she brought home to have sex with for money? You were also supposed to rate them as "dangerous" or not depending on whether they caused her physical or mental harm?
In Australia the government pimps out mentally disabled women and rates the customers on how violent they are but takes no action?
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Sun 16 Sep 2012, 23:31, closed)

Yes, and you can buy plane tickets RIGHT NOW!
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Mon 17 Sep 2012, 0:51, closed)

I realise I'm probably very glib about this, but yeah. That's how state care services operate sometimes. Ideally, the managers in charge of providing the client a safe, welcoming home, will have met and engaged the client in some way, to try and develop a relationship with the client, so that the client gets to know and trust them. In the real world, this never happens. The manager reads a name on a referral, and puts a bum in a bed. The sad fact is that after state wards turn 18, there's no obligation for the managers to ensure that the client is safe and accounted for, unless that client is within the confines of the property. It doesn't matter whether the client is intellectually competent or not. And worse if the client is has a mental illness. If the client brought home a gentleman, we would ask him to leave. If our client was under 18, we would be obligated to have the police remove him as a trespasser, because we would have that duty of care for the client as a minor. Because she was an adult, mentally impaired or not, she still has the right to say "no, he is my guest, I want him here." Because it's her residence, she has that right. Hence the waiting and documenting whether he murders us or not.
(Boodicka, Mon 17 Sep 2012, 15:52, closed)

Wow.
It makes sense as you explain it, her being an adult and all, but it still sounds all kinds of crazy to me.
That said, I know too little of UK mental health care to know whether it is any better here.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Mon 17 Sep 2012, 17:44, closed)

I hope your role as Prostitute Enabler/Monitor
came with a supa-fly hat and a cane. Or were you expected to buy these for yourself, perhaps to encourage a sense of individuality in the role?
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Mon 17 Sep 2012, 10:16, closed)

"Pimp cool" has been ruined for me.
Ever since I saw that viral YouTube video of Pimp Vs Karate Instructor.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Mon 17 Sep 2012, 17:46, closed)