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tales from the farm, part 3
working over the summer because my grandpa paid cash and i was too lazy to get a "real" job.
so there i am, cleaning manure out of the cow corrals with a tractor; dumping the shit into a dumptruck and hauling it out to the fields, tons at a time.
the back of the dumptruck has a T-bar locking the doors in place, but the shit has jammed against the doors, so i'm swinging with a metal pipe to break it loose.
the T-bar finally gives way, and the doors fly open behind the force of nearly 2000lbs of cowshit. i jumped back, and the T-bar went whizzing by my face, grazing my cheek.
had it not been for my fast reflexes, i would no-doubt have been rendered unconscious, partially or completely buried in brown goop.
and you think YOUR job sucks...
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"Asking a bomb squad if an old bomb is still "real" is not the best thing to do if you want to save it." - denim
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