Unfiltered Story #66980

I was working as a wrangler at a resort ranch. Folks come up from the city to play cowboy for a weekend. I would take care of the horses, get them saddled, bridled and get the guests mounted up. I’d escort them on trail rides. One guy saw this entire process and I spoke to him for much of the hour on the trail. When I got him off the horse he actually asked me what I do for a living. I just dropped my head and said, “You tell him” to a fellow wrangler and walked into the barn. Surely barn doors are really just entries to alternate realities where horses go into stasis with no bodily functions. Kind of like parking a car. And who would want to be paid for dealing with the people?