May. 25th, 2020

jpegghost: (cool ghost)
Midway through the day, I was rented out to another home for a funeral. This is a big occasion. Funerals like to keep their own, in a sort of Games of Thrones / Lion King / The Godfather scenario where the younger get trained to take over one day. We are expected to embalm and do the funerals for our predecessors. Yes, that was a requirement in one of the funeral homes I interviewed at.

For this funeral home to need help meant they were in a real pickle. I got pimped out to the other funeral home, which seemed to appreciate the young blood as the secretaries are all gossipy old ladies who sat around and talked about traffic. I was the only guy other than the lead funeral director, who seemed relieved to have me helping out despite my annoyingly youthful and enthusiastic energy. The building is from the 1920s, with renovations from the 1940s and 60s which I was ECSTATIC about, and during our tour the lead funeral director (P) stopped by a portrait of a former funeral director.

Strange Suicide Story From The 60s )

As you can see, funeral directors and their kin are morbid gremlin people and we should feel bad for being so unfazed. I remember my first time receiving a body, or inserting eye caps... I was so antsy... But just earlier today I saw a grey-green man in a body bag with significant purge and didn't feel anything! Mental conditioning is a hell of a drug.

Anyways, I took care of business and left the funeral home to go home and watch Fury Road with Alex and eat Chicken A La King. I got a package too, from Friend Shannon. She knows Alex and I are going through Prohibition drinks and was kind enough to send me a book, unprompted, on vintage tiki drinks. I'm so lucky!



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