I am frequently asked what I think is the worst job we’ve ever done. As you can imagine, we’ve seen some pretty amazing and disgusting things over the past two decades. Not much offends or upsets me in this career, particularly after working as a first responder, hotel manager and restaurant owner. We’ve been in places where the occupant passed away and wasn’t discovered for some time, cleaned out the home of a cat hoarder (which made the news a few years ago), and we’ve even done a murder-suicide house. Of course, we’re only there in the aftermath, and are spared the most traumatic scenes. But still…

It's never fun when we have to watch family members bicker over what stays and what goes, or what family member gets whatever is left. Tensions can run high in these situations, as siblings, children and grandchildren try to find valuable items hidden in the piles and heaps a hoarder relative left behind. Most disagreements are usually just heated conversations. But once an argument actually came to blows between two family members, right before our eyes.

The worst jobs are usually flooded basements, where years of memories have just been lost. It’s sad to have to bag up waterlogged keepsakes, photos and old letters, all now destined for the trash heap. One July 4th weekend, the DC area had severe storms roll through that dumped inches of water in a matter of hours. Creeks and rivers overflowed their banks, and streets were turned into canals. We received numerous calls about flooded basements after this frightening weather event, and showed up to one house where the client’s 85-year-old grandmother lived. She was heartbroken seeing all of the damaged and destroyed items in the basement. We told her granddaughter that we could do the job, and  suggested she take her grandmother out for lunch or find some other excuse to get her out of the house while we cleared the basement. We explained that this was trash removal, which meant we were going to jam these bags full of items and unceremoniously throw them on the truck. But the grandmother refused to go anywhere. She insisted on watching us do the work. She couldn’t hold back the tears and sniffles as we went about our business. Every time a bag was launched onto the back of the truck it crashed into a piece of waterlogged furniture or another bag, which brought out a wail and moan from the grandmother. The granddaughter again tried to get her to leave but she wouldn’t budge. It took us about three hours to clean out the basement and you would’ve thought the grandmother’s tear ducts would have run dry by that point. But it wasn’t to be. Each bag tossed on the truck brought another round of wailing. Most jobs aren’t so traumatic – the majority of people are relieved to have us free up space in their home or take away items they couldn’t remove themselves. But not this poor grandmother. I was never so happy to finish a job and go home. I didn’t sleep well that night.