To step into our shed was to be ankle-deep in compost and carcasses (rat and lizard). To retrieve an item from within its depths, I had to grip the door jam with one hand, lean forward precariously while keeping both feet outside the “death zone”, grab the item and shake it vigorously to dislodge any mice or black widows, then swing myself out of harm’s way. Likewise, my storage strategy was to whip open the door, fling in the item, then slam the door shut again before anything could climb my leg. An object that flew too far back into the Shed of Death was obviously doomed.
Clearly the situation was out of control. I finally had to tuck my jeans into my boots and deal with the it, or never garden again.
Three hours later:
(dusts off hands with satisfaction, realizes how much petrified carcass is in the dust and immediately showers)