Across the road from the largest cannabis grow factory in Missouri, if not the entire planet, north of Humansville is the Cattleman Auction Company, which fifty years ago was the largest auction barn in the Quad County area, and as brand new then as the reefer factory is today.
The nephew of the owner developed an allergy to cow shit, which I was immune to, and I scored a job running the back pens and cleaning up Saturday after the sale.
Friday afternoons it was me and JD Bobinmeyer against fifteen hundred to two thousand or more head of cattle, and for $2.50 an hour.
The old men that lined the buyer’s observation runways above our heads bad mouthed kids like we did not exist.
We were stupid, fat, lazy, and incompetent in general and unable to count or make change.
And occasionally a bucked out rodeo bull would go through the ring, and the lady who ran the intercom would warn—
Fire in the hole, boys, fire in the hole
Buyers behind the rails
Fire in the hole
And JD would clear buyers out of the way to the Hormel Packing Company pens while I stood outside the exit door, gripping my hickory stick, and waited for the bull to come out.
Old men do not ever change.
They disparage youth as lazy, unwilling to work, and unlike how they were.
Young girls do not change either.
They are all old grandmas today, but fifty years ago the waitresses from the cafe would bring us cheeseburgers and a Pepsi with a smile right across that cow shit wearing short skirts and high heels and those old men above could only dream of them smiling at them like they smiled at us.
There’s nothing wrong with kids today.
For $25 an hour that weed factory gets the best there are.
