Down On The Farm

Now, before anyone gets their panties in a wad, let me make this clear: My grandfather and uncle were farmers and my mother grew up on a farm. I love bacon. I love ham. I appreciate the hard work of the farmer that puts food on my table and the thankless jobs they do. This, however, was one day I failed to appreciate him…

I’m standing in the electronics department happily checking out movie titles. This odor starts to waft my way, but I can’t quite place it, or where it’s coming from. As I come around the next side of the shelving unit, the smell is getting NOTICEABLY stronger. I’m getting to the point of deciding the worsening smell is not worth looking at movies anymore, when I find the source of the smell just around the corner on the next side. Mr. Hog Farmer has come to town and either cleanliness is not his strong suit, or his olfactory nerves have been permanently burned out from the smell; as have those of his family with him, who apparently don’t notice it either.

He’s standing at the shelves browsing movies, dressed in overalls and muck boots. The same overalls and muck boots he works the hogs with. I can tell from the fluid stains on his work clothes and the manure which still clings to his boots and overalls. He has walked straight off the hog lot (have you ever driven by one?), piled his family in the car and come to Wal-Mart to share his farmers bounty!

I mean, come on. Grandpa would have had a shower in the basement and changed into inside clothes before he even came into the house, much less gone to town!!! Of course, this would have been the day I left my cell phone/camera in the car.