Low Rank

A fictional short story about work frustrations.

I had been there two months, and I had enough. I pounded the wrought iron screen door with my fist - supposed to be a knock, but I was too fired up.

If you haven’t actually actually worked in the silage pit, you can’t appreciate the smell of fermented corn. I don’t know how the big calves that were being fatted up in the pens ate it, but as long as it wa…