October 16, 2008

Going down?

Ever heard of a funeral home not accepting a families dearly departed because the 'house is full'? Can you imagine. Distraught, trying to understand the loss, how things will be in the future and suddenly, some clammy handed man with pasty white skin in a dark suit is telling you I'm sorry, we have no room for your deceased (I doubt they ever say dead). Where would you go? To whom would you turn? What if just too many people croak one fine sunny Saturday afternoon in the spring. The earth damp from a a morning sprinkle and the smell of freshness in the air. And your dead have no-where to lie. Or is it lay? I never could keep that rule straight in my head.

So, you've got a DB (police vernacular on TV for dead body) and no place to house 'em for a couple of days before you pay an huge fee to buy a casket no one will ever see again and a nice cement tomb for the casket to sit inside 'til grave robbers come in the grand year of our lord 3552 because they want to find out how people lived in the days before transporters and such. Oh, this one had much jewelry. He was surely a king. See the bling laying next to the bones? Hate to tell them it was some rapper gansta wanna be. Don't hate the playah, hate the game.

Back to our funeral home debacle. Where will uncle Howard stay 'til we can say last words and cry over his body? Perhaps the place down the street has room for him? Perhaps not. He died so unexpectedly. No time to to review candidates. No time to do the right thing. Ol' Howie forgot to plan. He didn't prepare and so when the end came on that fine sunny afternoon someone else was left to tend his affairs. How gauche. Really.

Don't forget the coffin shaped cookies. They are divine.


At 1:28 AM, Blogger jin said...

Those guys are so creepy.
The last time I had to deal with one was for my Grams. I went with my Mom to go over the details. There was very little money to work with and she had wanted to be cremated. That bastard tried to guilt my Mom into a thousand dollar urn (which we could NOT afford) instead of a $50 shoebox (while he stared at my cleavage).
My Mom didn't know how to say "no" so the normally sweet tactful soft-spoken jin piped up with a very intolerant, "We'll take the cheap box." as I slammed his laminated binder full of glossy photos shut. Prick. They're all leeches!

At 11:30 AM, Blogger Buffalo said...

They can shove a bone up my butt and let a big dog drag me off.


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