It’s a dirty job ... and they're happy to do it

It's after 10 p.m. at the Minnesota State Fair. As the last fan scoots out of the grandstand, an army of workers carrying bushel baskets and long, metal tongs march to the nosebleed seats to collect sticky plastic cups, mustardy hot dog wrappers and half-eaten buckets of popcorn.

Sometimes, there's an unexpected treat. On this night, after "Weird Al" Yankovic's show, workers paused to dig into a left-behind bucket of Sweet Martha's cookies. Then it was back to work, tidying up the 320-acre fairgrounds.

It takes 75 people about 40 minutes to clean the grandstand, depending on the show.

Keeping the Great Minnesota Get-Together clean is a dirty job. But someone's got to pick up the tons of garbage, scoop piles of manure out of barns and clean dozens of toilets. And believe it or not, some people choose to come back to these jobs year after year, claiming there's no other place they'd rather be.

Jim (Jimbo) Shafer of Blaine has been working in sanitation for 15 years, ever since he found himself with two weeks of vacation from his food distribution job and no place to go. Shafer's co-workers thought he was crazy "using vacation time to come here," he said. "But then I had extra money for a really nice vacation."

Krissy Skar of St. Paul is taking time off from managing a bank to, among other things, check bathroom tampon dispensers and clean up after sick fairgoers. To her, working the fair provides a sense of camaraderie that feels like "adult summer camp."

Skar, 26, said the squad gets about four to five "puke calls" per day, although at the Brad Paisley concert on the fair's opening night, she said there were six or seven.

"A younger crowd," she explained.

Long hours, bathroom tips

It's not unusual for workers to put in long hours at the fair. Instead of going home, some will crash on hand-me-down couches inside the air-conditioned sanitation offices where there's a much-needed shower, or outside in a camper.

Many employees got their jobs through family members who say being a sanitation worker is kind of like being a carny.

"It's in the blood," said Shafer, who dreams of working someday with three generations of his family -- just like 77-year-old Bob Anderson, who is known as "Ol' Bob" to the night cleanup crew, which includes his son and grandson.

Skar said she used to tag along with her dad and took over his job when he retired.

Another plus of cleaning up at the fair is the freedom to move around the grounds, which some consider a luxury compared with the number of jobs that require hour after hour in or near a booth.

In addition to cleaning toilets and emptying trash cans, sanitation workers interact with fairgoers. They give directions. They reunite lost children with their parents.

And if asked, they may share secrets about bathrooms best avoided. Stay away from the one at the front gate for the first few hours of the day. If you'd prefer not to potty with the partiers at the beer garden, steer clear of the bathroom by the Department of Natural Resources building after noon.

Getting sloppy and slimed

Brent Lindstrom, who runs a construction company by day in Roberts, Wis., claims that women's restrooms are much dirtier than men's -- mostly because of the toilet paper that inevitably makes its way to the floor.

When he and a co-worker were cleaning a bathroom last week, the co-worker announced that opening a stall to clean is "almost like [opening a] Christmas present. You never know what you're going to find."

Cell phones, thong underwear, strollers and beer cans stuffed in toilets have been among the finds.

To be sure, the job is not for the squeamish. Garbage smells. Manure smells. And the hotter it gets, the more you notice.

"You get sloppy, you get slimed," Shafer said. "You don't go home clean."

For proof, look no further than Kevin Kurtzman and his crew of a half-dozen sweaty, dusty sanitation workers who donned masks a couple of days ago to clean up a barn.

They shoveled manure and hay, then grabbed rakes to pry a layer of urine-soaked dirt from the ground.

"It's a nice ammonia smell," joked Kurtzman, a 26-year-old electrical engineering student at the University of Minnesota.

He wasn't much of a fairgoer before accepting the job three years ago. But now he starts thinking months before the fair opens about his crew and how it can work more efficiently.

"It's kind of weird, but ... I treat this fair like it's mine," he explained. "When it gets dirty, I get upset."

Kara McGuire • 612-673-7293

Kara McGuire • kara@startribune.com