October 20, 2023 • 47 mins
Grant's taking his first vacation from the funeral home in years to rest and recover from the grind of summer...Unfortunately, he's neither rested or recovered when Jenifer, the new funeral director, calls him for a favor that ends up turning into one of the craziest nights he's ever had on call.... ALSO what's up with that Steve guy?!?
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Get Collection One + The Epilouge (Premium Only) at www.MyFuneralHomeStories.com
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:01):
The following account is real. Nameshave been changed to protect the living and
the innocent. This journal contains languageand content that may not be suitable for
all listeners. Hi. Everyone,hopefully you listen to part one of Stepping
In It. If you didn't,I recommend you do so before listening to
(00:23):
this episode. For context, thisstory takes place approximately three months after part
one. In full transparency, I'vewritten two different eight or nine page intros
for this chapter and they all justtake away from the episode, So we're
just gonna jump right back in.This episode is an all blood, guts
and gore like some of the previousepisodes, so I understand if it's not
(00:43):
for everybody, but this is animportant story in my misguided and irresponsible youth
of working at the funeral home.Anyway, with all that being said,
I really hope you enjoy this episode. My name is Grant and these are
my my funeral home stories. Chaptertwenty one, Stepping In It, Part
two, Friday. I wake upon the couch in my living room,
(01:08):
drenched in sweat and completely out ofbreath. When did I fall asleep?
And why is it so dark?I sit up quickly and squint to look
at the analog clock with glowing handson the wall near the wet bar seven
point fifteen. Are you kidding me? This was my last weekday of vacation
and I spent it in fucking dreamlandon my couch. Great, But why
am I so tired? I huncheddown to stretch my lower back and rub
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the base of my palms into myeyeballs, feeling the sweat from my forehead
transferred to my fingers. Ugh.My entire body's damp, and I've got
such a bad headache. Maybe I'mgetting the flu again. I touched the
back of my hand in my forehead. It's hot. Oh no. I
had the flu in August, andin terms of flus I've had in my
short lifetime, it was the worst. It lasted over two weeks, and
(01:51):
for the duration I couldn't keep anythingdown and was constantly fluctuating temperatures while my
body ached worse than it ever hadfrom any past illnesses. I thought it
was food poisoning from China Star downthe street, but when I didn't feel
better in forty eight hours, Iknew it was something else. Let me
tell you, there's nothing worse thanhaving the flu and working at a funeral
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home just short staffed enough that callingin sick isn't an option. Everyone ends
up bringing whatever they have with themand spreading the sick throughout the office,
taking a sieech down one by one. At some point every year, we're
all sick to varying degrees. Someare getting over it, while others find
themselves barely surviving. But the phonedoesn't stop ringing because death has no sympathy
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for the sick. Honestly, doingthe grunty, labor intensive part of the
job isn't all that bad when you'resick. Most of the time, when
facing a death call or in bombing. In that condition, the hours go
by pretty quick and you forget howbad you feel because you have a job
to do. Dealing with people,PaperWorks, scheduling, and expectations is a
whole other story, though. Notenever admit to a family you're so ner
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that you're sick. There's really nopoint in telling them what are you expecting
compassion for you? Please someone theylove just died. They really don't care
about your problems. Admitting you're sickand subsequently distracted by your illness isn't reassuring
for a family. Planning a service. It's like you're making excuses for mistakes
that haven't happened yet because of yourdiminished physical and mental capacity. A family's
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only focus should be on grieving theirloss, not worrying about the details you're
undoubtedly missing, reveling in your illnessregardless of how you feel. Arrangements and
execution of set arrangements must be perfectalways. My dad wouldn't have it any
other way. It's our job toturn one of life's worst experiences into a
(03:45):
positive memory that families can live withforever. Working a funeral service sick feels
a lot like what I imagine beingsick on Broadway must be like, in
the sense that folks paid a lotof money for you to do what you
do, so the show must goon. If I'm being one hundred percent
honest, dealing with the living ismuch more of a pain in the ass
than the dead when you're sick asa dog. There's literally nothing worse than
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having to work a visitation with afever that makes you forget who you are
and what you're doing every five minutes, while still having to feign interest and
compassion for the hordes of grieving people. Walking into your building, so you
just have to smile and pretend youdon't feel like shit. You'd be surprised
how a good or bad greeting duringa visitation can shape a person's entire visit
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to the funeral home. A goodgreeting can put visitors at ease, making
the funeral home feel warmer and lessspooky, while a cold and unwelcoming greeting
will only re solidify whatever stigma orstereotype the visitor has about funeral directors and
the industry at large. Now,with that being said, friendliness and caring
compassion can be hard to fake whenyou're exploding out of both ends of your
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body most of the time. IfI'm not feeling well during a visitation without
my father present, I'll abandon mypost and lay on one of the couches
upstairs for ten or twenty minutes untilI'm feeling a little bit more like my
healthy self. But I need tobe careful because it is possible to accidentally
sleep through an entire visitation. Trustme, I've been there. None of
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my coworkers have ever made a commenton my absence at the door in these
situations, as they're usually considerably empatheticfor my plight, But don't tell my
dad. He wouldn't be happy tohear that I go a wall At work,
he has little patience for weakness duringillness, as he's worked through every
cold and flu season for forty yearswithout taking a single sick day, or
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at least that's what he tells hisstaff. Plus, he's constantly lecturing me
on the importance of customer service inour industry, saying things like, you're
the face of the funeral home.Most people don't want to be here,
and it's your job to make surethey feel welcomed and or put at ease
before uncomfortably walking into a room withtheir dead family member or friend. He's
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not wrong, but he doesn't needto tell me so often. I've been
here ten years. I should knowthis by now. This year, Ned
and I got sick at the sametime, and it was awful. We
had eight or nine house calls thatweek and we were both barely able to
stand by the end of it.I'll never forget the night I picked up
Missus Wilson from the hospital. Morganstayed to assist Ned to speed up the
eumbombing process, and it ended upturning into a six hour ordeal. This
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was mostly because of missus Wilson's shittycirculation, but our inability to complete the
simplest task without stopping to rush tothe bathroom to expel our insides made for
a more complicated evening. We endedup having to do a six point injection
that night, and I'm pretty sureNed had to throw out his underwear when
he got home. I mean,I know I did, running my fingers
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through my wet hair alone in myliving room, my mutter. I hope
I'm not sick again. This vacationwas supposed to be a time to recharge
my batteries and fix whatever cognitive dissonanceI had with life and work. But
I'm afraid I'm actually work sot thanwhen I left. Still coming to from
my surprise marathon nab, I placedmy feet on the floor and rotate my
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necks side to side. There's aloud thud at the base of my skull
and a jolt of pain shoots throughmy entire body, waking me up A
bit more confused on how I endedup falling asleep on the couch, I
frantically look around the room for cluesbefore my eyes land on three empty pine
glasses sitting on the coffee table infront of me. Ah, that's right,
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I had three long Island iced teastoday at one o'clock. I'm not
sick at all. I'm just hungover. What was I thinking. I
barely ate anything today. I onlyremember having half in everything bagel with cream
cheese. This morning. My almostbroken toaster burnt the other half, so
I put it on the squirrel feederin my backyard. It was gone within
in minutes. I always forget aboutthat feeder. It was a gift from
missus Anderson after we buried mister Anderson, who had a massive heart attack in
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his backyard during his granddaughter's fourteenth birthdayparty. She gave Ned and I both
squirrel feeders after the service as athank you for picking up her husband from
their house in such a caring andcompassionate manner. Those were her words written
on a thank you card she sentwith the package. It was a nice
sentiment on her part. I guessmister Anderson made bird and squirrel feeders,
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so she probably didn't want to justthrow them away after he died, but
needed to make room in the basementfor her treadmill or something. Ned's feeder
is still in the box she broughtit in, sitting below the time clock
in the stairwell at the funeral home. My dubt will ever take it home.
My stomach gurgles loudly in an angry, boozy fashion. Next to the
pine glasses on the coffee table,there are two pink Powerball tickets and a
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half eaten box of butterfinger Bebes tippedover on its side. Now even more
confused, I pick up one ofthe lottery tickets and squint to see that
it was purchased at five twenty sixpm today, I went to the gas
station to buy lottery tickets and butterfingerbebes, and I was drunk enough that
I don't remember. Holy shit,I must have been a mess when I
walked in. I had to havebeen slurring my words in a dramatic fashion
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because my long island iced teaser strong. Obviously. I just hope I didn't
make an ass out of myself ordo something stupid like knock over or display
and get banned for life. Itwouldn't be the first time. But I
like the layout of this gas station, and it's close, So I'm just
gonna wait a few days before Igo back there. There's nothing worse than
alcohol amnesia fading away and then notin your stomach feeling it produces when you
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start to remember all the poor decisionsthat led you to where you are.
In the current moment, a panickedfeeling washes over me. God, I
hope I didn't drive. I standup quickly and walk over to the window
to make sure my car is inone piece in my driveway. It is.
The ground is wet. Apparently itrained again, like it has all
week. It's just missing. Nowthe central heating kicks on with a loud
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bang and startles me. I seesomething move in my peripheral vision on the
other side of the window. Iturned my head and move closer to the
window to investigate, bumping my noseagainst the wooden blinds. My fine motor
skills aren't all fantastic right now.I can feel my heart beating through my
eyes. I exhale deeply, hopingit will relieve some of the pressure in
(10:07):
my head. It doesn't. Throughthe haze the persistent drizzle has created,
I see a person that appears tobe an adult man standing in shadow near
the edges of the orange glow fromthe loud Halagen street lights placed sporadically throughout
my neighborhood. He can't be anyfurther than twenty five feet away from where
I'm standing inside my house. Idon't think he sees me, though,
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at least I hope he can't.This is kind of creepy. What the
hell is he doing? And whyis he just standing in front of my
house in the rain? No,less, he's got to be freezing,
I tell myself it's probably nothing.But if there's anything I've learned from years
of watching TV and movies, it'sthat a man meandering in the shadows in
front of your home, ignoring therain never ends with something cool or neat
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happening for the person watching through thewindow. In fact, it almost always
ends in a homicide. I literallyjust watched a movie that started all almost
this exact way, So excuse meif I seem a little paranoid. Earlier
this week, I rented The Strangerson DVD from Hollywood Video. It's a
new release about a couple who's randomlyterrorized and eventually murdered by three massdnair dwells
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in the middle of the night forvirtually no reason. I watched it alone
around two am Wednesday morning, andI have to tell you it was quite
an experience in terms of American psychologicalhorror films. It has all the bells
and whistles. I was constantly lookingover my shoulder or pausing the DVD to
investigate every unexplained sound coming from inor around my house. I even slept
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with the lights on that first night, which, as we all know,
is the hallmark of an expertly craftedhorror film. I've watched it three times
since my initial viewing, and it'sstill sitting on top of my DVD player.
I'm fairly certain it was only aone day rental since it just came
out on Tuesday, so I'm goingto get hammered with late fees. Totally
worth it. The shadowy man stepsa little closer to the street light.
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I can make out more details.Short hair, smaller frame, and hands
in pockets. He stops before steppingdirectly in the light, pausing for a
moment, swaying back and forth,just looking around. This is unsettling.
I look over my shoulder to makesure there isn't someone standing behind me with
an axe or a butcher knife inhand, there isn't. The man's bizarre
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behavior continues for another forty seconds orso before the unknown figure takes a step
forward into the light. I breathea sigh of relief. It's just Steve,
the guy that lifts two doors down. Nothing to be afraid of here.
He's total wallpaper. I've talked toSteve twice a week for two years,
and I have no idea what hedoes, where he's from, or
what he likes to do to cutloose, other than being a total weirdo
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loitering through the neighborhood at all hoursof the night. He's about five six,
a buck twenty, with an oddlyshaped head and dresses how I imagine
Bill Gates dresses on a pontooning tripor at a barbecue casual doorkware. If
Steve wasn't so wimpy and soft spoken, I might have a little more fear
for my life. But based onour interactions, I don't think Steve is
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capable of anything seriously dubious, likekilling his neighbors on a whim. He
might shoplift a pocket protector or aminiature tree for the trainset village he probably
has in his basement, but otherthan that, he's basically harmless. But
so was Jeffrey Dahmer. You know, actually, now that I'm thinking about
it, Steve is the exact typeof wimpy, soft spoken, hypothetical trainset
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owner that would kill his neighbors.No one would ever expect it. It's
the perfect crime. I quickly doublechecked the front door next to the window
to make sure it's locked. We'regood. Not tonight. Steve walking away
from the window to restlessly pace aroundmy living room in the dark to try
and figure out what to do withmyself, I'd take in the full scope
of my headache. My head feelslike it's about to split open from the
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top, like someone's driving the pointyside of an axe directly into my skull,
but very fair slowly. Sorry thatmay have been a little over the
top, but the strangers have madeaxe murders top of mine this week.
No pun intended there. I've neverbeen to a home invasion, multiple murder
scene on a death call before,and I can honestly tell you that's a
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true disappointment. The closest I've cometo anything like that was that fellow who
stabbed his family and lit himself onfire in his basement. But I was
just a kid who lived with hisparents when I went on that call,
so I wasn't able to fully comprehendhow scary that situation would have been for
the wife and child and how Iwould have reacted in that predicament. The
strangers really made me think honestly aboutwhat I'd actually do if confronted with a
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home invasion homicide scenario, and realistically, if I were faced with a stranger's
style attack, I'd either panic andhide in the closet hoping the killers wouldn't
find me, similar to what happenedin the movie, or alternatively, I
could see myself going full Last Houseon the Left and becoming fully unhinged,
hunting down and dismembering each one ofthe home invaders with things like weed whackers,
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drill bits, and various serrated cutlery, ultimately placing one of the home
invaders heads inside a doorless microwave whilestanding over them saying a cool movie catchphrase
like I'm about to blow your mind, right before their brain explodes through their
eye sockets, forcing me to repaintmy ceiling. Can you tell I've spent
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some time thinking about this. HopefullyI never have to find out how I'd
actually respond in that sort of crisis, but in the event it does happen,
I truly hope I'd take the unhingedmicrowave route, but in all likelihood
I'd probably be killed almost immediately withoutany fanfare, leaving whoever's in the house
with me to vent for themselves.It's a good thing I live alone.
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Now I need a tie on all. I walk to the kitchen and instinctually
open the door to the refrigerator tobe greeted by bright light and cool air
flooding out. I squint from thebrightness, but the cool air feels nice
on my skin. I'm not evenhungry, but if I were, I
don't have anything to eat other thana jar of year old pickles and a
half pound of salami. I don'tremember buying. That's right, I need
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to go to the store. Correction, I needed to go to the store
three days ago, but just haven'tgotten around to it. I shut the
refrigerator door. Don't get me wrong, I may not have food in the
fridge, but I've still been eating. It's just not well. I've been
working my way through the pantry totry and get rid of some of the
old stuff. I'm pretty sure allI had to eat yesterday was a bowl
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of grape nuts mixed with a yoplay yogurt that's been sitting in the back
of my fridge for months, anda can of bushes baked beans that I
warmed up in the microwave. Youcould say I'm really living it up on
vacation this week. I can't believeI fucked around this hard and wasted an
entire week. How did you gobuy so fast? It's not like I
was busy aside from the occasional fiveor ten minute errand I haven't left the
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house in six days. I've justbeen sitting in the dark, rotating from
chair to sofa, to bed,to floor to chair. A thrilling vacation.
When I requested this time off lastmonth, I had big plans for
this week, but like all theother plans I've made this year, they
didn't quite shake out how I expected. You see, I took this week
off because I was hired to playdrums for the band Occasional Heroics on a
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five gig stint, hitting all thebig East Coast cities while their drummer dealt
with some ongoing drama at home causedby his lifestyle. I heard through the
grapevine he had gotten his second DUIright before I got the phone call,
gauging my interest. Naturally, Ijumped at the opportunity. The band's music
is okay. It's very of themoment, meaning their genre is somewhere between
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weird post rock and ambient stoner shitthink Tortoise or Magwa, but less interesting,
nothing I'd ever listened to personally.But the drum parts are nasty and
fun to play, so I can'treally pretend like I wasn't excited to perform
in some good sized clubs supporting bandsI'd actually listened to, and I'd get
a week away from the tedium thatis the funeral home. I had four
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weeks to prep and as of lastThursday, I was ready. I was
fully packed, waiting for the bandto come pick me and my equipment up
at my house. When the phonerang. It was the band's manager calling
to tell me that the band haddecided to go with a less talented drummer
for these dates, who was chargingthem a much cheaper day rate. What
a kick in the mouth, right. The manager actually said, this guy
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isn't as good as you, buthe's charging us a hell of a lot,
less hoping I would change my rateand decide to donate my services to
the band. Fuck that noise.I don't learn all your music and haul
all my shit around for free andopting out of their agreement the way they
did was dirty, so I hopetheir van and trailer end up at the
bottom of the Hudson River. OnceI unpacked and my anger subsided, I
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actually told myself a week of doingnothing is exactly what I needed, seven
full, uninterrupted days of me time, no dead bodies, no visitations,
and most importantly, no late nightphone calls NET, allowing me to rest
and recalibrate. But obviously that didn'thappen. I went a little too hard
in the paint with the drinking,and I'm more anxious and uncalibrated than I've
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ever been. I don't want todo what I've been doing anymore, any
of it. I want to gosomewhere new and be someone else, not
just that guy that works at afuneral home who occasionally plays drums and appropriately
loud at restaurant gigs while diners ignoreme eating their fourteen dollars steaks. I
think the first step of fixing mylife is slowing down on my alcohol consumption,
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but that's proving far more difficult thanI had anticipated, since I've been
relying on it so heavily to calmmy nerves and elevate my mood after work.
I gave up the whole Tootsie Popsinstead of booze plan when I stepped
on a scale a month and ahalf ago and realized I had gained ten
pounds. Needless to say, myvanity didn't allow me to continue down that
path. I believe my exact thoughtwhile looking down at the inflated numbers on
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the scale was I'd rather destroy andpoison my insides alcohol than be forced to
walk around with a spare tire fromeating fucking suckers all day and all night.
The extra weight fell off almost immediatelywhen I stopped eating all that sugar,
but the drinking has increased to alevel which I would classify, with
no healthcare education or training, asproblematic, if not potentially alarming. Headache
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pounding, I pulled the top offthe bottle of tile and all. I
pulled from the medicine basket next tothe fridge, without looking, grabbed two
pills with my fingers and pop theminto my mouth. I reopened the refrigerator
to grab a soda to wash thepills down, and realize the only beverages
available are a gallon jug of icedtea I made three weeks ago, and
the last Budweiser Select of an eighteenpack I purchased on Wednesday. Squinting again
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to dim the bright light coming fromthe fridge that seemed to elevate my headache
to migraine status, and understanding mycurrent condition is caused by alcohol, I
make the only reasonable decision and grabthe Budweiser Select Hair the Dog, I
tell myself, twisting the cap offbefore taking a large gulp, feeling the
tile and all capsules slide down mythroat. I put the cat back on
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the tile and all sitting on mycounter and realized I had grabbed the wrong
bottle. It was tile in allPM. I look at the clock,
seven to twenty three. Well,worst things have happened this week. We
still get to bed early. Iwalk my beer into the living room and
sit down in a well worn divoton my brownish gray fabric couch. Aside
from two dimly lit night lights,the room is completely dark. I drink
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the rest of my beer in onedrink and set the empty bottle next to
the pint glasses and the butterfinger bebeson the coffee table. Don't mind if
I do, I say to myself. Picking up the box of butterfingers,
I stick my nose in the openingto smell the container, and the peanut,
butter and chocolate smell makes me gag, so I placed the box back
where I found it. For thefirst time in almost a week, I
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see my phone light up from acrossthe rooms, sitting on an end table
on its charger. It's on silent, but since the room is so dark,
the two inch color led screen lightingup is hard to miss. I
watch it ring, debating whether ornot to be bothered by whoever's on the
other end of the call. I'mimmediately anxious, thinking of an excuse to
have queued up to get out ofwhatever this is. I walk over to
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the phone and look at the caller. ID it's Jennifer, remember her,
the girl that caught me with myshoes off? Who I thought was flirting
with me the day she came intointerview. Well, she's my coworker now,
and for the record, there hasbeen zero flirting on either of our
parts, leading me to believe ourinitial interaction was just her being friendly and
nervous on the day of her biginterview. And even if she was flirting,
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my dad would not be stoked tofind out there was any fraternizing among
his employees. So I've been Johnnyprofessional and, as my dad would say,
keeping it in my pants. Otherthan the normal pleasantries and general work
stuff, Jennifer and I have barelytalked. We're both just too busy doing
whatever it is need to do onany given day to sit down and chat
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about anything. Really, Alan andher are teamed up for removals, so
I have no idea how she ison death calls or dealing with families.
But from Alan's account, she's detailoriented and good at her job. Why
would she be calling me. Sheknows I'm off till Monday. Everyone knows
I'm off till Monday because they're allforced to cover for me. A thought
pops into my head. Maybe she'scalling to ask me out. Intrigued now
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and less anxious, I pick upmy phone. The screen goes dark.
I miss the call, staring atthe phone for a moment, debating calling
Jennifer back. The led screen lightsup. It's her again. Feeling that
beer kick in and getting some relieffrom my headache. I flip my phone
open and answer Hello, Hey,Grant, it's Jennifer. Hey, what's
going on? Not much? Ineed a favor. Why is Jennifer calling
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me for a favor? Okay,I say, interested, but pensive.
She makes her pitch. So Nedand Alan are four counties away on a
cremation call and we just got asheriff's call in high Rise Park down the
street from the funeral home. Sothe answering service called me as a backup,
and I figured i'd see if youwere home and could help me out.
(24:11):
A damn. I am home,but I just took talin o PM
and was bet ready to go tobed. I start to say, before
being interrupted, Oh, well,I'll see if I can get somebody else.
Sorry to bother your Grant. Shesounds disappointed. There's a pregnant pause
on the phone line before I breakthe silence and say, you know what,
fuck it, I'll go I maybedozing off on you, but you're
(24:33):
in a pinch, so I gotyou awesome. I owe you a big
time, Jennifer responds excitedly. Youknow I'm on the east side with the
van right now, so I cancome pick you up. Those six words
make me anxious in most cases,because it almost inevitably means I'm going to
end up being held hostage by whoever'sdriving. But for some reason I didn't
even think before responding that works forme. Jennifer tells me she'll see me
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in fifteen minutes, and we getoff the phone. Feeling the rush of
suddenly having something to do for thefirst time in a week. I take
a two minute shower before walking intomy closet to see my only black suit
that isn't at the dry cleaners,wadded up and thrown into the corner of
my closet. Fuck, of course, Roughly twenty minutes later, after steaming
(25:22):
my suit and getting dressed, Ihear two quick beaps of a car horn.
She's here. I grab the Stranger'sDVD, knowing we'll pass the video
store on the way to or fromthe funeral home, and figure i'll save
myself a trip I go out thefront door, locking it behind me,
being sure to double check it threetimes before I walk away. Note my
OCD won't allow me to walk awayfrom mini door until I turn the handle
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three times. It's a pain.As I turn and begin walking, I
feel a wave of sleepiness wash overme. I feel it mostly in or
around my eyes. It's been abouttwenty five minutes since I took the tile
on all PM, but it's mixingwith the beer nicely, so even though
I'm a bit sleepy, I actuallyfeel pretty good. It's raining more steadily
(26:07):
now. It's much colder than Ithought it would be tonight. I suppose
I should have worn my trench coat, but I wasn't really thinking about the
weather when I got dressed, andI really don't want to run inside,
So it looks like we're getting wettonight in a strictly professional manner, of
course. Now that I'm acclimated tothe outside world, the cold rain and
breeze feel refreshing and add a littleextra pep in my step. I look
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around to see if my neighbor Steveis still outside, being a weirdo.
He's not outside, but I'm surewherever he is he's probably still being a
weirdo. I walk around the frontof the van, smiling and waving at
Jennifer before grabbing the passenger door handle. A giant gust of wind pushing against
the van adds resistance as I openthe door, and my whole face contorts
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as I let out a giant yawnbefore saying hello, Hey Jennifer, Oh
my god, you look so tired. She says, thank you so much
for doing this. Mildly insulted byher observation, I laugh and say,
yeah, no problem. What yougot there, she asks. I hold
up the DVD case and say Irented the Strangers and need to return it.
You think we can pop by thevideo store? Of course, we
(27:15):
can stop on our way back.Is that movie good? I really want
to see it. Yeah, it'spretty great. Jennifer reaches behind her and
pulls out a brown paper bag whileI'm closing my door and fastening my seatbelt.
She holds it up and says,I'm a couple of minutes late because
I stopped to get you with thankyou present for bailing me out. Oh
you didn't have to give me anything, I say as I take the thank
(27:36):
you gift and pull it out ofthe bag. It's a glass handled bottle
of schmir Nav vodka. Oh shit, thank you, I say, Surprised
you didn't have to do this.Yes I did. You're on vacation.
Plus I heard somewhere that you liketo party, she says, putting the
car in reverse and pulling out ofmy driveway. I yawn again loudly and
apologize. Don't apologize, Jennifer says, you took sleep aid for God's sakes.
(27:57):
How about we stop by the gasstation and get a couple of red
bulls? Yes, I say,without hesitation. But do you mind if
we go to a gas station alittle closer to the funeral home. She
flips on the turn signal to pullout of my neighborhood and says, why
don't they carry red bull I laughand decide to tell her the truth.
They do carry red bull. Ijust don't really want to go back there
(28:19):
tonight. Oh you were just there, she asked, glancing over at me.
Yeah. Well, believe it ornot, I blacked out a few
hours ago and ended up walking overand may or may not have caused a
scene. It's a whole thing.I just don't want to have to talk
to the same cashier and feel judged. Right now, Jennifer nods and smiles.
Well hit seven to eleven on Adams. We're on our way now,
(28:42):
feeling the red bull. I'd chuggedon my way to the park, kicking
in. I'm no longer tired,and my headache is virtually nonexistent. Was
I hungover or just undercaffeinated? Honestly, I think I'm just excited not to
be alone anymore. I took forgranted how six days of isolation would make
me feel. Jennifer's pretty good companyon a death call. She's fun,
(29:03):
easy to talk to, and herlaugh is contagious. Her only downfall is
her atrocious taste in music. Shelistened to a mixed TV she made of
simple plan songs the entire way tothe call, which would be cool if
we were both thirteen. But allthings considered, her music taste didn't ruin
the ride at all. It's actuallypretty charming that she's obsessed with such a
(29:23):
terrible band. Jennifer pulls into theentrance to the park and drives towards the
bandshell. It's pouring now, andI'm really regretting not bringing a raincoat,
but Jennifer doesn't appear to have ajacket either, so I don't feel so
bad about it since we're both inthis together. An officer with an umbrella
and a weird condom over his hatwaves us over with a flashlight and points
(29:45):
out where to park. Jennifer andI get out of the car, and
the officer walks to a tree andstands under its huge, half filled branches
as a makeshift shelter from the elements. We quickly pulled a cod out of
the car and speed walk over tothe officer, both muttering to ourselves about
how cold and wet it is out. Hey guys, beautiful night. Huh,
(30:07):
the officer says with a smile,before telling us why we're here.
We got a nineteen year old female, Jane Doe, drug overdose this evening.
We don't know who she is yet, so you're just gonna take her
to the hospital Morgue until we figureout who she is and where she's going.
She's out there, the officer says, pointing to the large grass mall
between the banshell and clubhouse. Ican faintly make out a mass laying on
(30:30):
the ground, but it's too darkto see clearly. Jennifer and I walk
the cot out, rolling it underthe police table. The rain is let
up a bit in the minute sincewe got here, but it's still soaking
us. With every step, Iwatch the rain drops beat up and roll
off the scotch guarded cot cover asit bounces through the grass. We pull
up and park the cot next toa body fully exposed to the elements in
(30:51):
the field. The officer is holdinghis flashlight above his head and points it
at the body, revealing a petiteblonde woman wearing sweatpants, a plain black
T shirt, and low top DocMartin's. She appears to be laying on
a jacket or a hooded sweatshirt ofsome sort. It's weird that they didn't
cover up her body with a sheetand just left her out here in the
rain like this, But no onehangs out in the park on cold,
(31:12):
rainy nights like this, so Iguess they didn't really see a need to
conceal the body. Jennifer and Idropped the cot to its lowest position,
and she unzips the cover and pullsout a disaster pouch. I squat down
next to the girl to take acloser look at the body and laying on
its back in front of me,ignoring the downpour for a moment. Poor
girl, I think to myself,life was just getting started for her,
(31:34):
and somehow, some way, shemade a series of poor decisions that led
her to where she is now dead. Was it heroin, I asked the
officer. Yeah, she had awhole bag of paraphernalia with her when the
park supervisor found her a few hoursago. I look at the woman's arms,
and as I suspected, there's trackmarks everywhere. She must have been
(31:55):
left handed, because her right armappears to have way more tiny holes and
dark bruise. We've seen a realuptick in Od's at the funeral home lately.
It's sad and it affects every demographic. It's not just young folks taking
a ride on the White Horse anymore. It's everyone. And it's not just
scary illegal drugs. More often thannot, it's the safe prescription drugs that
(32:15):
are killing these people. Thankfully,opiates make me itch, so I've never
really been all that interested in experimentingwith them, which is probably a good
thing, because from what I knowabout myself and my inability to moderately partake
in anything I enjoy. If I'dtried heroin, I'd probably end up just
like our Jane Doe. Here.I take a look at her face,
(32:37):
which has virtually no color and oneof her eyelids is slightly open. Her
skin is smattered with pock marks andsores, perhaps from bad acne, but
it's far more likely it's from theheroine or whatever else she was doing.
The woman's long hair is pulled backinto a ponytail, and it appears to
be tucked into her t shirt.Jennifer taps me on the shoulder and says
(33:00):
gloves. I look up at herand say no, shaking my head,
only because I know how hard itis to put on wet gloves with wet
hands, so I'd rather just bypassthat dog and pony show. There's no
blood, so I think we're goodwithout gloves on this one, I say,
smiling at Jennifer. She puts thefour gloves she got out in her
pocket. The officer's flashlight is castingan interesting shadow on Jennifer's face from this
(33:22):
angle. From my perspective, Jennifer'swet hair laying flat on her head and
running eye makeup kind of makes herlook like Nev Campbell from the Wild Things
movie poster. Jennifer puts the unfoldedand unzip disaster pouch next to the girl's
body and we proceed to move herinto the bag. She's so light and
frail. As I zip up thedisaster pouch around her head, I take
(33:43):
one last look at her face andthink what a waste she could have been
anything. I wonder if she knewshe had a problem. Didn't she have
any friends or were they all junkieenablers too. It makes me sad to
know that a substance can do thisto someone, destroying a young life before
it's even started. Why on earthwould you do this to yourself? My
compassion for this girl turns into judgment, and I think about ever Clear song
(34:06):
Heroin Girl and its last lyric.I heard the policeman say, just another
overdose. It's like that song waswritten specifically for this occasion. That's all
this girl will ever be to usand the officer, just another overdose.
I finished zipping the disaster pouch uparound her head, and I realize my
thoughts and judgments are completely hypocritical,because I've been on an alcohol bender for
(34:28):
the better part of a year now, But I shake then negative thoughts out
of my head, lying to myselfrepeating the mantra, I don't have a
problem. I don't have a problem. Jennifer and I fasten the body to
the cod and flip over and zipup its cover. We squat on either
end of the cod and I pullthe release lever as we stand to extend
and lock out the legs in place. I push on one of the wheels
(34:49):
with my foot to make sure thelegs are locked. It clicks. We're
good. No. It's always importantto check and make sure the legs are
locked when moving a loaded or unloadedcot, especially on uneven surfaces like grass.
If you don't and they're not,the cock will collapse, making a
huge ruck ass and will cause youmuch embarrassment in front of a family and
your coworkers. Turning toward the vanand grabbing the foot end of the cot,
(35:13):
I accidentally put my hand on therelease lever without knowing and pull instantaneously.
The accordion legs of the cot collapseto the lowest position, making the
cot under the weight of Jane Doe'sbody hit the ground with a loud thud
and bounce, almost tipping over.Jennifer and the officer laugh loudly while I'm
panicking to make sure I didn't justaccidentally hurt Jennifer's hand or arm. Thankfully
(35:36):
I didn't. What a dumb rookiemove. I haven't ever collapsed a loaded
cop publicly before. I've seen ithappen a few times, and it's always
scary in the moment, but isimmediately hilarious once you're allowed to laugh about
it. Alan dropped the stretcher ona house call one time, and it
may have been the funniest thing I'veever seen, but couldn't laugh at because
the family was standing right in frontof us. I'll tell you what they
(35:59):
found nothing fun about that loud crash. After a peaceful removal, we weren't
even out of the house yet andwe already made a terrible impression. But
it was totally worth it when Iwas able to belly laugh at Allan's expense
all the way back to the funeralhome. Thankfully, tonight, the cot
didn't tip over. That would havebeen bad in this weather. I can
feel my face flush with embarrassment aswe picked the cot back up and extend
(36:22):
its legs. I double check itwith my foot once again, we're locked.
Jennifer is still laughing uncontrollably. Thecontagiousness of her laugh makes me giggle
a bit before saying I'll fuck off, Jennifer. I grab the stretcher again
to move it forward, and makingsure this time not to touch the release
lever. We loaded the stretcher intothe van, drove away, and dropped
(36:44):
Jane Doe at the hospital without anyfurther incident. We're headed back to the
funeral home now. Jennifer and Iarrived back at the funeral home having to
redress the cot. We're both soakingwet, and make our way to the
prep room via the elevator to restockthe cod with fresh sheets and rubber gloves.
(37:07):
Ned and Allen's cars weren't in theparking lot. They must have made
pretty good time on their out ofcounty removal. They're probably already at home
in bed. I'm a little jealous, but I've woken up quite a bit
from the cold, rain and redbull, and could imagine myself staying up
at least another hour, maybe two. When I get home. All I
can think about is getting out ofthese wet clothes. I can feel a
(37:27):
starch or whatever the dry cleaner usesto press my shirts, soaking through and
making my skin feel slimy and disgusting. As Jennifer redresses the cod I slip
into the walking closet attached to theprep room, closing the door behind me
to put on a pair of runningshorts, an oversized crew neck sweatshirt,
and a pair of sambas with thosesocks that I had left at the funeral
home for yard work. I walkback out to the prep room, not
(37:51):
mentioning my outfit change to Jennifer.When she sees me, she says,
yes, good thinking. I totallyforgot. I brought extra clothes here too,
up so I can change, ofcourse, I say. She takes
off her soaked pantsuit jacket as sheenters the closet, leaving the door open
behind her so she can continue ourconversation. From my vantage point, I
(38:12):
can't see anything but the door.Don't worry, I wasn't trying to be
a creep. She's my coworker.Speaking of creeps, I wonder what my
neighbor Steve is doing right now.He's either at home playing with his trains,
or he's broken into my house andis waiting to ambush me. After
I fall asleep this evening, Izip the cot cover up and place a
handful of extra gloves in its frontpouch. Jennifer asks loudly from the closet,
(38:34):
can you grab me a towel?My hair is so wet. Thinking
nothing of the request, I walkover to one of the cabinets and grab
a large white towel and walk itover to the closet, announcing my presence
as I approach so she doesn't thinkI'm trying to sneak a peek or something.
Okay, bringing it in now,thanks, Grant. Just put it
on the shelf. Breaking the thresholdof the closet, I see Jennifer standing
(38:57):
with her back toward me. She'sstanding there shirtless, with her pants and
shoes still on, wringing her hairout on the carpet. I'm surprised by
what I see, but not bywhat you think. Sure, I never
would have imagined that Jennifer would beso comfortable changing in front of her coworker.
But what absolutely blew my mind wasthe full sized back tattoo that Jennifer
has of a dream catcher running fromher shoulder blades to her butt. Oh
(39:21):
my god, I think to myself, what an ugly tattoo. I keep
that thought to myself and say,here you go, putting the towel on
the shelf next to her before scurryingout. Don't ask me about my tattoo.
She says, it's stupid and waytoo big. Oh no, it's
cool, I say, my voicegetting higher as I respond, while pushing
the cot out of the operating room, hoping she can't tell that I agree
(39:42):
with her. A moment or twolater, Jennifer steps out of the closet
wearing yoga pants, flip flops,and a faded Simple Plan T shirt.
I can't contain myself when I seeher laughing loudly. I say, you
like Simple Plan enough to own aT shirt? She smiles and tells me
to shut up. In a PatrickBateman moment, I suddenly remember I need
to return the copy of The Strangerson DVDs, sitting in the front seat
(40:06):
of the van to Hollywood Video.When Jennifer takes me home and I remind
her of that, that's right,I forgot you have that? Do you
want to watch it? Again,she asks, like right now, I
say, confused by the question,looking at the clock in the operating room.
It's nine pm. Now, Yeah, we can watch it in the
chapel and the big projector you know, I've never thought to do that,
but yes, saying enthusiastically, thinkingabout how much scarier the Strangers would be
(40:30):
inside an empty funeral chapel. Cool, go put the cop back in the
van and grab it. I'll turnthe lights on in the chapel. As
I walk away, Jennifer ads,grab that bottle of vodka two. We
should have a cocktail. About sevenminutes later, Jennifer and I are sitting
in the dark on two large wingbacked chairs with our feet up on a
casket beer, watching the opening sceneof The Strangers on the wall at the
(40:52):
front of the chapel. I ratedthe basement fridge for dia pepsi and made
cocktails and two large coffee tumblers Ifound under the sink in the break room.
I don't think my dad would approveof this, but fuck it,
I'm on vacation and I'm sure he'sasleep and none the wisers, so I
don't have to worry about him oranyone else for that matter, crashing our
makeshift screening. Fifty minutes and threedrinks each later, I'm drunk and honestly
(41:15):
pretty freaked out. Even though Iknow all the beats from seeing this movie
four other times this week, it'sstill scary. Jennifer hasn't said a word
in about twenty minutes. I glanceover. Her eyes are glued to the
screen. She's terrified. I standup until Jennifer, I need to use
the boy's room. I set mydrink on the casket beer and make my
way to the restroom. While standingat the journal, I think to myself,
(41:37):
Wow, after six days of beingutterly alone with nothing to do,
it feels nice to have a newfriend, someone to hang out with that
I'm not trying to sleep with,because we're coworkers and we respect each other's
professional boundaries enough to not be inappropriate. I smile at myself in the mirror
after splashing water on my face,realizing how drunk I am. I think
(41:57):
I can have another drink, Ithink to myself, before moving to the
door, quickly excited to see theend of the movie again. It's my
favorite part, just thinking of theline because you were home send shivers down
my spine. As I drunkenly shufflearound the corner and enter the hallway leading
to the chapel, I see ashadow figure that startles me. Standing in
the threshold where the chapel and thehallway meet, I jump and feel my
(42:20):
heart skip a beat. This isit. It's time. I'm being funeral
home invaded. For a moment,my adrenaline spikes and I feel myself slip
into fight mode. Hello, who'sthere? I say, timidly, standing
still a stone in the hallway.The shadow figure moves towards me and says,
grant, it's me. I gotscared and didn't want to be alone.
Oh my god, you scared theshit out of me, I say,
(42:42):
giggling and slightly out of breath.Jennifer walks towards me, and before
I have time to process what's happening, she puts her hand on my face,
moving closer to me, and ourlips touched. What the fuck is
happening, I think to myself,leaning into the kiss. Now it would
be ungentlemanly me to elaborate any furtheron what happened next, but I certainly
(43:04):
don't want to imply anything more happenedthan it did, because, as flawed
as I may be, I'm notreally the kiss and tell type. But
if I were into tasteful sharing andfelt so inclined to use baseball terms to
describe what happened that night, Iwould say the evening was spent mostly on
first base, but we might havesnuck in a double on the green leather
(43:25):
couch and the lobby. But again, I'm a gentleman and a consummate professional,
so I would never share something likethat. All I know is ned
and I have had a lot ofcrazy nights on call, but nothing like
this. Don't worry. We finishedthe movie and I only owed seventeen dollars
in late fees. Totally worth it. Monday, twelve fifteen pm. It's
(43:47):
my first day back from vacation andit's slow, no services, no visitations,
a perfect way to ease back intowork. I was a little worried
that it was going to be awkwardbetween Jennifer and I this morning, but
it wasn't at all. In fact, when Jennifer came in today, she
made it a point to tell meshe had a really nice time on Friday
night with a wink, so Iguess she was flirting that day she came
(44:09):
in for her interview. Who knows. The whole making out with the coworker
thing felt wrong, but Jennifer didn'tseem to be bothered in the slightest by
it, so I figured I wouldn'tbe either. Ned Jennifer and I are
the only ones here at the moment. Everyone else is out to lunch.
They're both upstairs deep cleaning the preproom while I'm getting ready to shampoo the
(44:29):
back porch carpets before closing it downfor the winner. The back doorbell rings.
I drop what I'm doing and brisklymoved to the lobby. Standing there
waiting for me is a slender,handsome looking, dark haired man in his
early to mid twenties. He smileswhen we make eye contact and I say,
Hi, how can I help you? The man smiles back at me
and says, hey, is Jenniferaround? Hang tight? Let me intercommer
(44:52):
Jennifer to the lobby. Please Jenniferto the lobby. Knowing it will take
a minute or two for Jennifer tocome down, I asked gentleman if he
wants a bottle of water or anything. He politely declines, and has a
seat on the green leather couch inthe lobby. The green leather couch,
We talk about how crummy the weatherhas been for the last couple days before
(45:12):
hearing the sound of heels walking quicklydown the stairwell. The door opens and
Jennifer pops out and says, hey, guys. The man stands up when
he sees Jennifer. She looks atme like a deer in the headlights,
as if sending me a message telepathically. What's that look for, I think
to myself, Grant, I wantyou to meet my boyfriend Andrea. Almost
unable to speak, I raise myhand to shake his. I'm in shock,
(45:37):
but I don't let it FaZe me. Just like being sick at a
visitation, I feign interest and excitement. The show must go on, right,
So I overcorrect and, with toomuch enthusiasm, say, oh,
so you're the Andre. I've heardso much about pleasure to meet you.
We all love having your girlfriend aroundthe office. Andre smiles and says,
good to meet you too, man, I've heard a lot about you.
(45:59):
Oh I bet you have, Ithink to myself. Andre kisses Jennifer on
the lips and says want to goto lunch. She smiles and says yes,
quickly grabbing her purse and walking downthe ramp to the exit door.
Before she steps out, she looksback and we make eye contact for a
brief second. She mouths the wordsI'm sorry to me before walking out,
letting the doors shut behind her.Standing alone in the lobby, I look
(46:22):
up at the chandelier above my head. There's a cobweb dangling down from one
of the light bulb covers. Itry to reach up and grab it,
but it's too high. Defeated,I sit down on the green leather couch.
I'm not sure how to feel rightnow. My name is Grant and
these are my Funeral Home Stories.Hopefully you enjoyed this episode. If you
did, and you liked the podcast, please rate and review wherever you listen
(46:45):
and consider telling a friend. Thepodcast keeps growing every day and I couldn't
be happier. If you'd like tosupport my Funeral home Stories directly, head
over to my funeral Homestories dot comand get Collection one or the epilogue episode.
They're commercial free and all the moneygoes directly to me, which fucking
rules. And if you're interested,check out my other podcast, How to
(47:05):
Become a Terrible Person. It's incrediblydifferent than this podcast. It's hosted by
my beautiful fiance and I and mostof the people that listen to this podcast
that try it out, well theydon't like it, but maybe you will.
Anyway. The next chapter of MyFuneral Home Stories will be a premium
only podcast and it will drop onNovember seventeenth of twenty twenty three. More
(47:27):
to come on that later. Thanksfor listening.
The following account is real. Nameshave been changed to protect the living and
the innocent. This journal contains languageand content that may not be suitable for
all listeners. Hi. Everyone,hopefully you listen to part one of Stepping
In It. If you didn't,I recommend you do so before listening to
(00:23):
this episode. For context, thisstory takes place approximately three months after part
one. In full transparency, I'vewritten two different eight or nine page intros
for this chapter and they all justtake away from the episode, So we're
just gonna jump right back in.This episode is an all blood, guts
and gore like some of the previousepisodes, so I understand if it's not
(00:43):
for everybody, but this is animportant story in my misguided and irresponsible youth
of working at the funeral home.Anyway, with all that being said,
I really hope you enjoy this episode. My name is Grant and these are
my my funeral home stories. Chaptertwenty one, Stepping In It, Part
two, Friday. I wake upon the couch in my living room,
(01:08):
drenched in sweat and completely out ofbreath. When did I fall asleep?
And why is it so dark?I sit up quickly and squint to look
at the analog clock with glowing handson the wall near the wet bar seven
point fifteen. Are you kidding me? This was my last weekday of vacation
and I spent it in fucking dreamlandon my couch. Great, But why
am I so tired? I huncheddown to stretch my lower back and rub
(01:30):
the base of my palms into myeyeballs, feeling the sweat from my forehead
transferred to my fingers. Ugh.My entire body's damp, and I've got
such a bad headache. Maybe I'mgetting the flu again. I touched the
back of my hand in my forehead. It's hot. Oh no. I
had the flu in August, andin terms of flus I've had in my
short lifetime, it was the worst. It lasted over two weeks, and
(01:51):
for the duration I couldn't keep anythingdown and was constantly fluctuating temperatures while my
body ached worse than it ever hadfrom any past illnesses. I thought it
was food poisoning from China Star downthe street, but when I didn't feel
better in forty eight hours, Iknew it was something else. Let me
tell you, there's nothing worse thanhaving the flu and working at a funeral
(02:12):
home just short staffed enough that callingin sick isn't an option. Everyone ends
up bringing whatever they have with themand spreading the sick throughout the office,
taking a sieech down one by one. At some point every year, we're
all sick to varying degrees. Someare getting over it, while others find
themselves barely surviving. But the phonedoesn't stop ringing because death has no sympathy
(02:35):
for the sick. Honestly, doingthe grunty, labor intensive part of the
job isn't all that bad when you'resick. Most of the time, when
facing a death call or in bombing. In that condition, the hours go
by pretty quick and you forget howbad you feel because you have a job
to do. Dealing with people,PaperWorks, scheduling, and expectations is a
whole other story, though. Notenever admit to a family you're so ner
(03:00):
that you're sick. There's really nopoint in telling them what are you expecting
compassion for you? Please someone theylove just died. They really don't care
about your problems. Admitting you're sickand subsequently distracted by your illness isn't reassuring
for a family. Planning a service. It's like you're making excuses for mistakes
that haven't happened yet because of yourdiminished physical and mental capacity. A family's
(03:23):
only focus should be on grieving theirloss, not worrying about the details you're
undoubtedly missing, reveling in your illnessregardless of how you feel. Arrangements and
execution of set arrangements must be perfectalways. My dad wouldn't have it any
other way. It's our job toturn one of life's worst experiences into a
(03:45):
positive memory that families can live withforever. Working a funeral service sick feels
a lot like what I imagine beingsick on Broadway must be like, in
the sense that folks paid a lotof money for you to do what you
do, so the show must goon. If I'm being one hundred percent
honest, dealing with the living ismuch more of a pain in the ass
than the dead when you're sick asa dog. There's literally nothing worse than
(04:09):
having to work a visitation with afever that makes you forget who you are
and what you're doing every five minutes, while still having to feign interest and
compassion for the hordes of grieving people. Walking into your building, so you
just have to smile and pretend youdon't feel like shit. You'd be surprised
how a good or bad greeting duringa visitation can shape a person's entire visit
(04:30):
to the funeral home. A goodgreeting can put visitors at ease, making
the funeral home feel warmer and lessspooky, while a cold and unwelcoming greeting
will only re solidify whatever stigma orstereotype the visitor has about funeral directors and
the industry at large. Now,with that being said, friendliness and caring
compassion can be hard to fake whenyou're exploding out of both ends of your
(04:53):
body most of the time. IfI'm not feeling well during a visitation without
my father present, I'll abandon mypost and lay on one of the couches
upstairs for ten or twenty minutes untilI'm feeling a little bit more like my
healthy self. But I need tobe careful because it is possible to accidentally
sleep through an entire visitation. Trustme, I've been there. None of
(05:14):
my coworkers have ever made a commenton my absence at the door in these
situations, as they're usually considerably empatheticfor my plight, But don't tell my
dad. He wouldn't be happy tohear that I go a wall At work,
he has little patience for weakness duringillness, as he's worked through every
cold and flu season for forty yearswithout taking a single sick day, or
(05:34):
at least that's what he tells hisstaff. Plus, he's constantly lecturing me
on the importance of customer service inour industry, saying things like, you're
the face of the funeral home.Most people don't want to be here,
and it's your job to make surethey feel welcomed and or put at ease
before uncomfortably walking into a room withtheir dead family member or friend. He's
(05:56):
not wrong, but he doesn't needto tell me so often. I've been
here ten years. I should knowthis by now. This year, Ned
and I got sick at the sametime, and it was awful. We
had eight or nine house calls thatweek and we were both barely able to
stand by the end of it.I'll never forget the night I picked up
Missus Wilson from the hospital. Morganstayed to assist Ned to speed up the
eumbombing process, and it ended upturning into a six hour ordeal. This
(06:20):
was mostly because of missus Wilson's shittycirculation, but our inability to complete the
simplest task without stopping to rush tothe bathroom to expel our insides made for
a more complicated evening. We endedup having to do a six point injection
that night, and I'm pretty sureNed had to throw out his underwear when
he got home. I mean,I know I did, running my fingers
(06:45):
through my wet hair alone in myliving room, my mutter. I hope
I'm not sick again. This vacationwas supposed to be a time to recharge
my batteries and fix whatever cognitive dissonanceI had with life and work. But
I'm afraid I'm actually work sot thanwhen I left. Still coming to from
my surprise marathon nab, I placedmy feet on the floor and rotate my
(07:06):
necks side to side. There's aloud thud at the base of my skull
and a jolt of pain shoots throughmy entire body, waking me up A
bit more confused on how I endedup falling asleep on the couch, I
frantically look around the room for cluesbefore my eyes land on three empty pine
glasses sitting on the coffee table infront of me. Ah, that's right,
(07:27):
I had three long Island iced teastoday at one o'clock. I'm not
sick at all. I'm just hungover. What was I thinking. I
barely ate anything today. I onlyremember having half in everything bagel with cream
cheese. This morning. My almostbroken toaster burnt the other half, so
I put it on the squirrel feederin my backyard. It was gone within
in minutes. I always forget aboutthat feeder. It was a gift from
missus Anderson after we buried mister Anderson, who had a massive heart attack in
(07:53):
his backyard during his granddaughter's fourteenth birthdayparty. She gave Ned and I both
squirrel feeders after the service as athank you for picking up her husband from
their house in such a caring andcompassionate manner. Those were her words written
on a thank you card she sentwith the package. It was a nice
sentiment on her part. I guessmister Anderson made bird and squirrel feeders,
(08:13):
so she probably didn't want to justthrow them away after he died, but
needed to make room in the basementfor her treadmill or something. Ned's feeder
is still in the box she broughtit in, sitting below the time clock
in the stairwell at the funeral home. My dubt will ever take it home.
My stomach gurgles loudly in an angry, boozy fashion. Next to the
pine glasses on the coffee table,there are two pink Powerball tickets and a
(08:35):
half eaten box of butterfinger Bebes tippedover on its side. Now even more
confused, I pick up one ofthe lottery tickets and squint to see that
it was purchased at five twenty sixpm today, I went to the gas
station to buy lottery tickets and butterfingerbebes, and I was drunk enough that
I don't remember. Holy shit,I must have been a mess when I
walked in. I had to havebeen slurring my words in a dramatic fashion
(08:58):
because my long island iced teaser strong. Obviously. I just hope I didn't
make an ass out of myself ordo something stupid like knock over or display
and get banned for life. Itwouldn't be the first time. But I
like the layout of this gas station, and it's close, So I'm just
gonna wait a few days before Igo back there. There's nothing worse than
alcohol amnesia fading away and then notin your stomach feeling it produces when you
(09:22):
start to remember all the poor decisionsthat led you to where you are.
In the current moment, a panickedfeeling washes over me. God, I
hope I didn't drive. I standup quickly and walk over to the window
to make sure my car is inone piece in my driveway. It is.
The ground is wet. Apparently itrained again, like it has all
week. It's just missing. Nowthe central heating kicks on with a loud
(09:46):
bang and startles me. I seesomething move in my peripheral vision on the
other side of the window. Iturned my head and move closer to the
window to investigate, bumping my noseagainst the wooden blinds. My fine motor
skills aren't all fantastic right now.I can feel my heart beating through my
eyes. I exhale deeply, hopingit will relieve some of the pressure in
(10:07):
my head. It doesn't. Throughthe haze the persistent drizzle has created,
I see a person that appears tobe an adult man standing in shadow near
the edges of the orange glow fromthe loud Halagen street lights placed sporadically throughout
my neighborhood. He can't be anyfurther than twenty five feet away from where
I'm standing inside my house. Idon't think he sees me, though,
(10:28):
at least I hope he can't.This is kind of creepy. What the
hell is he doing? And whyis he just standing in front of my
house in the rain? No,less, he's got to be freezing,
I tell myself it's probably nothing.But if there's anything I've learned from years
of watching TV and movies, it'sthat a man meandering in the shadows in
front of your home, ignoring therain never ends with something cool or neat
(10:52):
happening for the person watching through thewindow. In fact, it almost always
ends in a homicide. I literallyjust watched a movie that started all almost
this exact way, So excuse meif I seem a little paranoid. Earlier
this week, I rented The Strangerson DVD from Hollywood Video. It's a
new release about a couple who's randomlyterrorized and eventually murdered by three massdnair dwells
(11:13):
in the middle of the night forvirtually no reason. I watched it alone
around two am Wednesday morning, andI have to tell you it was quite
an experience in terms of American psychologicalhorror films. It has all the bells
and whistles. I was constantly lookingover my shoulder or pausing the DVD to
investigate every unexplained sound coming from inor around my house. I even slept
(11:37):
with the lights on that first night, which, as we all know,
is the hallmark of an expertly craftedhorror film. I've watched it three times
since my initial viewing, and it'sstill sitting on top of my DVD player.
I'm fairly certain it was only aone day rental since it just came
out on Tuesday, so I'm goingto get hammered with late fees. Totally
worth it. The shadowy man stepsa little closer to the street light.
(12:00):
I can make out more details.Short hair, smaller frame, and hands
in pockets. He stops before steppingdirectly in the light, pausing for a
moment, swaying back and forth,just looking around. This is unsettling.
I look over my shoulder to makesure there isn't someone standing behind me with
an axe or a butcher knife inhand, there isn't. The man's bizarre
(12:22):
behavior continues for another forty seconds orso before the unknown figure takes a step
forward into the light. I breathea sigh of relief. It's just Steve,
the guy that lifts two doors down. Nothing to be afraid of here.
He's total wallpaper. I've talked toSteve twice a week for two years,
and I have no idea what hedoes, where he's from, or
what he likes to do to cutloose, other than being a total weirdo
(12:46):
loitering through the neighborhood at all hoursof the night. He's about five six,
a buck twenty, with an oddlyshaped head and dresses how I imagine
Bill Gates dresses on a pontooning tripor at a barbecue casual doorkware. If
Steve wasn't so wimpy and soft spoken, I might have a little more fear
for my life. But based onour interactions, I don't think Steve is
(13:07):
capable of anything seriously dubious, likekilling his neighbors on a whim. He
might shoplift a pocket protector or aminiature tree for the trainset village he probably
has in his basement, but otherthan that, he's basically harmless. But
so was Jeffrey Dahmer. You know, actually, now that I'm thinking about
it, Steve is the exact typeof wimpy, soft spoken, hypothetical trainset
(13:30):
owner that would kill his neighbors.No one would ever expect it. It's
the perfect crime. I quickly doublechecked the front door next to the window
to make sure it's locked. We'regood. Not tonight. Steve walking away
from the window to restlessly pace aroundmy living room in the dark to try
and figure out what to do withmyself, I'd take in the full scope
of my headache. My head feelslike it's about to split open from the
(13:52):
top, like someone's driving the pointyside of an axe directly into my skull,
but very fair slowly. Sorry thatmay have been a little over the
top, but the strangers have madeaxe murders top of mine this week.
No pun intended there. I've neverbeen to a home invasion, multiple murder
scene on a death call before,and I can honestly tell you that's a
(14:15):
true disappointment. The closest I've cometo anything like that was that fellow who
stabbed his family and lit himself onfire in his basement. But I was
just a kid who lived with hisparents when I went on that call,
so I wasn't able to fully comprehendhow scary that situation would have been for
the wife and child and how Iwould have reacted in that predicament. The
strangers really made me think honestly aboutwhat I'd actually do if confronted with a
(14:41):
home invasion homicide scenario, and realistically, if I were faced with a stranger's
style attack, I'd either panic andhide in the closet hoping the killers wouldn't
find me, similar to what happenedin the movie, or alternatively, I
could see myself going full Last Houseon the Left and becoming fully unhinged,
hunting down and dismembering each one ofthe home invaders with things like weed whackers,
(15:03):
drill bits, and various serrated cutlery, ultimately placing one of the home
invaders heads inside a doorless microwave whilestanding over them saying a cool movie catchphrase
like I'm about to blow your mind, right before their brain explodes through their
eye sockets, forcing me to repaintmy ceiling. Can you tell I've spent
(15:24):
some time thinking about this. HopefullyI never have to find out how I'd
actually respond in that sort of crisis, but in the event it does happen,
I truly hope I'd take the unhingedmicrowave route, but in all likelihood
I'd probably be killed almost immediately withoutany fanfare, leaving whoever's in the house
with me to vent for themselves.It's a good thing I live alone.
(15:45):
Now I need a tie on all. I walk to the kitchen and instinctually
open the door to the refrigerator tobe greeted by bright light and cool air
flooding out. I squint from thebrightness, but the cool air feels nice
on my skin. I'm not evenhungry, but if I were, I
don't have anything to eat other thana jar of year old pickles and a
half pound of salami. I don'tremember buying. That's right, I need
(16:07):
to go to the store. Correction, I needed to go to the store
three days ago, but just haven'tgotten around to it. I shut the
refrigerator door. Don't get me wrong, I may not have food in the
fridge, but I've still been eating. It's just not well. I've been
working my way through the pantry totry and get rid of some of the
old stuff. I'm pretty sure allI had to eat yesterday was a bowl
(16:29):
of grape nuts mixed with a yoplay yogurt that's been sitting in the back
of my fridge for months, anda can of bushes baked beans that I
warmed up in the microwave. Youcould say I'm really living it up on
vacation this week. I can't believeI fucked around this hard and wasted an
entire week. How did you gobuy so fast? It's not like I
was busy aside from the occasional fiveor ten minute errand I haven't left the
(16:52):
house in six days. I've justbeen sitting in the dark, rotating from
chair to sofa, to bed,to floor to chair. A thrilling vacation.
When I requested this time off lastmonth, I had big plans for
this week, but like all theother plans I've made this year, they
didn't quite shake out how I expected. You see, I took this week
off because I was hired to playdrums for the band Occasional Heroics on a
(17:17):
five gig stint, hitting all thebig East Coast cities while their drummer dealt
with some ongoing drama at home causedby his lifestyle. I heard through the
grapevine he had gotten his second DUIright before I got the phone call,
gauging my interest. Naturally, Ijumped at the opportunity. The band's music
is okay. It's very of themoment, meaning their genre is somewhere between
(17:37):
weird post rock and ambient stoner shitthink Tortoise or Magwa, but less interesting,
nothing I'd ever listened to personally.But the drum parts are nasty and
fun to play, so I can'treally pretend like I wasn't excited to perform
in some good sized clubs supporting bandsI'd actually listened to, and I'd get
a week away from the tedium thatis the funeral home. I had four
(18:00):
weeks to prep and as of lastThursday, I was ready. I was
fully packed, waiting for the bandto come pick me and my equipment up
at my house. When the phonerang. It was the band's manager calling
to tell me that the band haddecided to go with a less talented drummer
for these dates, who was chargingthem a much cheaper day rate. What
a kick in the mouth, right. The manager actually said, this guy
(18:22):
isn't as good as you, buthe's charging us a hell of a lot,
less hoping I would change my rateand decide to donate my services to
the band. Fuck that noise.I don't learn all your music and haul
all my shit around for free andopting out of their agreement the way they
did was dirty, so I hopetheir van and trailer end up at the
bottom of the Hudson River. OnceI unpacked and my anger subsided, I
(18:47):
actually told myself a week of doingnothing is exactly what I needed, seven
full, uninterrupted days of me time, no dead bodies, no visitations,
and most importantly, no late nightphone calls NET, allowing me to rest
and recalibrate. But obviously that didn'thappen. I went a little too hard
in the paint with the drinking,and I'm more anxious and uncalibrated than I've
(19:10):
ever been. I don't want todo what I've been doing anymore, any
of it. I want to gosomewhere new and be someone else, not
just that guy that works at afuneral home who occasionally plays drums and appropriately
loud at restaurant gigs while diners ignoreme eating their fourteen dollars steaks. I
think the first step of fixing mylife is slowing down on my alcohol consumption,
(19:32):
but that's proving far more difficult thanI had anticipated, since I've been
relying on it so heavily to calmmy nerves and elevate my mood after work.
I gave up the whole Tootsie Popsinstead of booze plan when I stepped
on a scale a month and ahalf ago and realized I had gained ten
pounds. Needless to say, myvanity didn't allow me to continue down that
path. I believe my exact thoughtwhile looking down at the inflated numbers on
(19:56):
the scale was I'd rather destroy andpoison my insides alcohol than be forced to
walk around with a spare tire fromeating fucking suckers all day and all night.
The extra weight fell off almost immediatelywhen I stopped eating all that sugar,
but the drinking has increased to alevel which I would classify, with
no healthcare education or training, asproblematic, if not potentially alarming. Headache
(20:21):
pounding, I pulled the top offthe bottle of tile and all. I
pulled from the medicine basket next tothe fridge, without looking, grabbed two
pills with my fingers and pop theminto my mouth. I reopened the refrigerator
to grab a soda to wash thepills down, and realize the only beverages
available are a gallon jug of icedtea I made three weeks ago, and
the last Budweiser Select of an eighteenpack I purchased on Wednesday. Squinting again
(20:45):
to dim the bright light coming fromthe fridge that seemed to elevate my headache
to migraine status, and understanding mycurrent condition is caused by alcohol, I
make the only reasonable decision and grabthe Budweiser Select Hair the Dog, I
tell myself, twisting the cap offbefore taking a large gulp, feeling the
tile and all capsules slide down mythroat. I put the cat back on
(21:07):
the tile and all sitting on mycounter and realized I had grabbed the wrong
bottle. It was tile in allPM. I look at the clock,
seven to twenty three. Well,worst things have happened this week. We
still get to bed early. Iwalk my beer into the living room and
sit down in a well worn divoton my brownish gray fabric couch. Aside
from two dimly lit night lights,the room is completely dark. I drink
(21:30):
the rest of my beer in onedrink and set the empty bottle next to
the pint glasses and the butterfinger bebeson the coffee table. Don't mind if
I do, I say to myself. Picking up the box of butterfingers,
I stick my nose in the openingto smell the container, and the peanut,
butter and chocolate smell makes me gag, so I placed the box back
where I found it. For thefirst time in almost a week, I
(21:52):
see my phone light up from acrossthe rooms, sitting on an end table
on its charger. It's on silent, but since the room is so dark,
the two inch color led screen lightingup is hard to miss. I
watch it ring, debating whether ornot to be bothered by whoever's on the
other end of the call. I'mimmediately anxious, thinking of an excuse to
have queued up to get out ofwhatever this is. I walk over to
(22:15):
the phone and look at the caller. ID it's Jennifer, remember her,
the girl that caught me with myshoes off? Who I thought was flirting
with me the day she came intointerview. Well, she's my coworker now,
and for the record, there hasbeen zero flirting on either of our
parts, leading me to believe ourinitial interaction was just her being friendly and
nervous on the day of her biginterview. And even if she was flirting,
(22:40):
my dad would not be stoked tofind out there was any fraternizing among
his employees. So I've been Johnnyprofessional and, as my dad would say,
keeping it in my pants. Otherthan the normal pleasantries and general work
stuff, Jennifer and I have barelytalked. We're both just too busy doing
whatever it is need to do onany given day to sit down and chat
(23:02):
about anything. Really, Alan andher are teamed up for removals, so
I have no idea how she ison death calls or dealing with families.
But from Alan's account, she's detailoriented and good at her job. Why
would she be calling me. Sheknows I'm off till Monday. Everyone knows
I'm off till Monday because they're allforced to cover for me. A thought
pops into my head. Maybe she'scalling to ask me out. Intrigued now
(23:26):
and less anxious, I pick upmy phone. The screen goes dark.
I miss the call, staring atthe phone for a moment, debating calling
Jennifer back. The led screen lightsup. It's her again. Feeling that
beer kick in and getting some relieffrom my headache. I flip my phone
open and answer Hello, Hey,Grant, it's Jennifer. Hey, what's
going on? Not much? Ineed a favor. Why is Jennifer calling
(23:49):
me for a favor? Okay,I say, interested, but pensive.
She makes her pitch. So Nedand Alan are four counties away on a
cremation call and we just got asheriff's call in high Rise Park down the
street from the funeral home. Sothe answering service called me as a backup,
and I figured i'd see if youwere home and could help me out.
(24:11):
A damn. I am home,but I just took talin o PM
and was bet ready to go tobed. I start to say, before
being interrupted, Oh, well,I'll see if I can get somebody else.
Sorry to bother your Grant. Shesounds disappointed. There's a pregnant pause
on the phone line before I breakthe silence and say, you know what,
fuck it, I'll go I maybedozing off on you, but you're
(24:33):
in a pinch, so I gotyou awesome. I owe you a big
time, Jennifer responds excitedly. Youknow I'm on the east side with the
van right now, so I cancome pick you up. Those six words
make me anxious in most cases,because it almost inevitably means I'm going to
end up being held hostage by whoever'sdriving. But for some reason I didn't
even think before responding that works forme. Jennifer tells me she'll see me
(24:56):
in fifteen minutes, and we getoff the phone. Feeling the rush of
suddenly having something to do for thefirst time in a week. I take
a two minute shower before walking intomy closet to see my only black suit
that isn't at the dry cleaners,wadded up and thrown into the corner of
my closet. Fuck, of course, Roughly twenty minutes later, after steaming
(25:22):
my suit and getting dressed, Ihear two quick beaps of a car horn.
She's here. I grab the Stranger'sDVD, knowing we'll pass the video
store on the way to or fromthe funeral home, and figure i'll save
myself a trip I go out thefront door, locking it behind me,
being sure to double check it threetimes before I walk away. Note my
OCD won't allow me to walk awayfrom mini door until I turn the handle
(25:45):
three times. It's a pain.As I turn and begin walking, I
feel a wave of sleepiness wash overme. I feel it mostly in or
around my eyes. It's been abouttwenty five minutes since I took the tile
on all PM, but it's mixingwith the beer nicely, so even though
I'm a bit sleepy, I actuallyfeel pretty good. It's raining more steadily
(26:07):
now. It's much colder than Ithought it would be tonight. I suppose
I should have worn my trench coat, but I wasn't really thinking about the
weather when I got dressed, andI really don't want to run inside,
So it looks like we're getting wettonight in a strictly professional manner, of
course. Now that I'm acclimated tothe outside world, the cold rain and
breeze feel refreshing and add a littleextra pep in my step. I look
(26:30):
around to see if my neighbor Steveis still outside, being a weirdo.
He's not outside, but I'm surewherever he is he's probably still being a
weirdo. I walk around the frontof the van, smiling and waving at
Jennifer before grabbing the passenger door handle. A giant gust of wind pushing against
the van adds resistance as I openthe door, and my whole face contorts
(26:52):
as I let out a giant yawnbefore saying hello, Hey Jennifer, Oh
my god, you look so tired. She says, thank you so much
for doing this. Mildly insulted byher observation, I laugh and say,
yeah, no problem. What yougot there, she asks. I hold
up the DVD case and say Irented the Strangers and need to return it.
You think we can pop by thevideo store? Of course, we
(27:15):
can stop on our way back.Is that movie good? I really want
to see it. Yeah, it'spretty great. Jennifer reaches behind her and
pulls out a brown paper bag whileI'm closing my door and fastening my seatbelt.
She holds it up and says,I'm a couple of minutes late because
I stopped to get you with thankyou present for bailing me out. Oh
you didn't have to give me anything, I say as I take the thank
(27:36):
you gift and pull it out ofthe bag. It's a glass handled bottle
of schmir Nav vodka. Oh shit, thank you, I say, Surprised
you didn't have to do this.Yes I did. You're on vacation.
Plus I heard somewhere that you liketo party, she says, putting the
car in reverse and pulling out ofmy driveway. I yawn again loudly and
apologize. Don't apologize, Jennifer says, you took sleep aid for God's sakes.
(27:57):
How about we stop by the gasstation and get a couple of red
bulls? Yes, I say,without hesitation. But do you mind if
we go to a gas station alittle closer to the funeral home. She
flips on the turn signal to pullout of my neighborhood and says, why
don't they carry red bull I laughand decide to tell her the truth.
They do carry red bull. Ijust don't really want to go back there
(28:19):
tonight. Oh you were just there, she asked, glancing over at me.
Yeah. Well, believe it ornot, I blacked out a few
hours ago and ended up walking overand may or may not have caused a
scene. It's a whole thing.I just don't want to have to talk
to the same cashier and feel judged. Right now, Jennifer nods and smiles.
Well hit seven to eleven on Adams. We're on our way now,
(28:42):
feeling the red bull. I'd chuggedon my way to the park, kicking
in. I'm no longer tired,and my headache is virtually nonexistent. Was
I hungover or just undercaffeinated? Honestly, I think I'm just excited not to
be alone anymore. I took forgranted how six days of isolation would make
me feel. Jennifer's pretty good companyon a death call. She's fun,
(29:03):
easy to talk to, and herlaugh is contagious. Her only downfall is
her atrocious taste in music. Shelistened to a mixed TV she made of
simple plan songs the entire way tothe call, which would be cool if
we were both thirteen. But allthings considered, her music taste didn't ruin
the ride at all. It's actuallypretty charming that she's obsessed with such a
(29:23):
terrible band. Jennifer pulls into theentrance to the park and drives towards the
bandshell. It's pouring now, andI'm really regretting not bringing a raincoat,
but Jennifer doesn't appear to have ajacket either, so I don't feel so
bad about it since we're both inthis together. An officer with an umbrella
and a weird condom over his hatwaves us over with a flashlight and points
(29:45):
out where to park. Jennifer andI get out of the car, and
the officer walks to a tree andstands under its huge, half filled branches
as a makeshift shelter from the elements. We quickly pulled a cod out of
the car and speed walk over tothe officer, both muttering to ourselves about
how cold and wet it is out. Hey guys, beautiful night. Huh,
(30:07):
the officer says with a smile,before telling us why we're here.
We got a nineteen year old female, Jane Doe, drug overdose this evening.
We don't know who she is yet, so you're just gonna take her
to the hospital Morgue until we figureout who she is and where she's going.
She's out there, the officer says, pointing to the large grass mall
between the banshell and clubhouse. Ican faintly make out a mass laying on
(30:30):
the ground, but it's too darkto see clearly. Jennifer and I walk
the cot out, rolling it underthe police table. The rain is let
up a bit in the minute sincewe got here, but it's still soaking
us. With every step, Iwatch the rain drops beat up and roll
off the scotch guarded cot cover asit bounces through the grass. We pull
up and park the cot next toa body fully exposed to the elements in
(30:51):
the field. The officer is holdinghis flashlight above his head and points it
at the body, revealing a petiteblonde woman wearing sweatpants, a plain black
T shirt, and low top DocMartin's. She appears to be laying on
a jacket or a hooded sweatshirt ofsome sort. It's weird that they didn't
cover up her body with a sheetand just left her out here in the
rain like this, But no onehangs out in the park on cold,
(31:12):
rainy nights like this, so Iguess they didn't really see a need to
conceal the body. Jennifer and Idropped the cot to its lowest position,
and she unzips the cover and pullsout a disaster pouch. I squat down
next to the girl to take acloser look at the body and laying on
its back in front of me,ignoring the downpour for a moment. Poor
girl, I think to myself,life was just getting started for her,
(31:34):
and somehow, some way, shemade a series of poor decisions that led
her to where she is now dead. Was it heroin, I asked the
officer. Yeah, she had awhole bag of paraphernalia with her when the
park supervisor found her a few hoursago. I look at the woman's arms,
and as I suspected, there's trackmarks everywhere. She must have been
(31:55):
left handed, because her right armappears to have way more tiny holes and
dark bruise. We've seen a realuptick in Od's at the funeral home lately.
It's sad and it affects every demographic. It's not just young folks taking
a ride on the White Horse anymore. It's everyone. And it's not just
scary illegal drugs. More often thannot, it's the safe prescription drugs that
(32:15):
are killing these people. Thankfully,opiates make me itch, so I've never
really been all that interested in experimentingwith them, which is probably a good
thing, because from what I knowabout myself and my inability to moderately partake
in anything I enjoy. If I'dtried heroin, I'd probably end up just
like our Jane Doe. Here.I take a look at her face,
(32:37):
which has virtually no color and oneof her eyelids is slightly open. Her
skin is smattered with pock marks andsores, perhaps from bad acne, but
it's far more likely it's from theheroine or whatever else she was doing.
The woman's long hair is pulled backinto a ponytail, and it appears to
be tucked into her t shirt.Jennifer taps me on the shoulder and says
(33:00):
gloves. I look up at herand say no, shaking my head,
only because I know how hard itis to put on wet gloves with wet
hands, so I'd rather just bypassthat dog and pony show. There's no
blood, so I think we're goodwithout gloves on this one, I say,
smiling at Jennifer. She puts thefour gloves she got out in her
pocket. The officer's flashlight is castingan interesting shadow on Jennifer's face from this
(33:22):
angle. From my perspective, Jennifer'swet hair laying flat on her head and
running eye makeup kind of makes herlook like Nev Campbell from the Wild Things
movie poster. Jennifer puts the unfoldedand unzip disaster pouch next to the girl's
body and we proceed to move herinto the bag. She's so light and
frail. As I zip up thedisaster pouch around her head, I take
(33:43):
one last look at her face andthink what a waste she could have been
anything. I wonder if she knewshe had a problem. Didn't she have
any friends or were they all junkieenablers too. It makes me sad to
know that a substance can do thisto someone, destroying a young life before
it's even started. Why on earthwould you do this to yourself? My
compassion for this girl turns into judgment, and I think about ever Clear song
(34:06):
Heroin Girl and its last lyric.I heard the policeman say, just another
overdose. It's like that song waswritten specifically for this occasion. That's all
this girl will ever be to usand the officer, just another overdose.
I finished zipping the disaster pouch uparound her head, and I realize my
thoughts and judgments are completely hypocritical,because I've been on an alcohol bender for
(34:28):
the better part of a year now, But I shake then negative thoughts out
of my head, lying to myselfrepeating the mantra, I don't have a
problem. I don't have a problem. Jennifer and I fasten the body to
the cod and flip over and zipup its cover. We squat on either
end of the cod and I pullthe release lever as we stand to extend
and lock out the legs in place. I push on one of the wheels
(34:49):
with my foot to make sure thelegs are locked. It clicks. We're
good. No. It's always importantto check and make sure the legs are
locked when moving a loaded or unloadedcot, especially on uneven surfaces like grass.
If you don't and they're not,the cock will collapse, making a
huge ruck ass and will cause youmuch embarrassment in front of a family and
your coworkers. Turning toward the vanand grabbing the foot end of the cot,
(35:13):
I accidentally put my hand on therelease lever without knowing and pull instantaneously.
The accordion legs of the cot collapseto the lowest position, making the
cot under the weight of Jane Doe'sbody hit the ground with a loud thud
and bounce, almost tipping over.Jennifer and the officer laugh loudly while I'm
panicking to make sure I didn't justaccidentally hurt Jennifer's hand or arm. Thankfully
(35:36):
I didn't. What a dumb rookiemove. I haven't ever collapsed a loaded
cop publicly before. I've seen ithappen a few times, and it's always
scary in the moment, but isimmediately hilarious once you're allowed to laugh about
it. Alan dropped the stretcher ona house call one time, and it
may have been the funniest thing I'veever seen, but couldn't laugh at because
the family was standing right in frontof us. I'll tell you what they
(35:59):
found nothing fun about that loud crash. After a peaceful removal, we weren't
even out of the house yet andwe already made a terrible impression. But
it was totally worth it when Iwas able to belly laugh at Allan's expense
all the way back to the funeralhome. Thankfully, tonight, the cot
didn't tip over. That would havebeen bad in this weather. I can
feel my face flush with embarrassment aswe picked the cot back up and extend
(36:22):
its legs. I double check itwith my foot once again, we're locked.
Jennifer is still laughing uncontrollably. Thecontagiousness of her laugh makes me giggle
a bit before saying I'll fuck off, Jennifer. I grab the stretcher again
to move it forward, and makingsure this time not to touch the release
lever. We loaded the stretcher intothe van, drove away, and dropped
(36:44):
Jane Doe at the hospital without anyfurther incident. We're headed back to the
funeral home now. Jennifer and Iarrived back at the funeral home having to
redress the cot. We're both soakingwet, and make our way to the
prep room via the elevator to restockthe cod with fresh sheets and rubber gloves.
(37:07):
Ned and Allen's cars weren't in theparking lot. They must have made
pretty good time on their out ofcounty removal. They're probably already at home
in bed. I'm a little jealous, but I've woken up quite a bit
from the cold, rain and redbull, and could imagine myself staying up
at least another hour, maybe two. When I get home. All I
can think about is getting out ofthese wet clothes. I can feel a
(37:27):
starch or whatever the dry cleaner usesto press my shirts, soaking through and
making my skin feel slimy and disgusting. As Jennifer redresses the cod I slip
into the walking closet attached to theprep room, closing the door behind me
to put on a pair of runningshorts, an oversized crew neck sweatshirt,
and a pair of sambas with thosesocks that I had left at the funeral
home for yard work. I walkback out to the prep room, not
(37:51):
mentioning my outfit change to Jennifer.When she sees me, she says,
yes, good thinking. I totallyforgot. I brought extra clothes here too,
up so I can change, ofcourse, I say. She takes
off her soaked pantsuit jacket as sheenters the closet, leaving the door open
behind her so she can continue ourconversation. From my vantage point, I
(38:12):
can't see anything but the door.Don't worry, I wasn't trying to be
a creep. She's my coworker.Speaking of creeps, I wonder what my
neighbor Steve is doing right now.He's either at home playing with his trains,
or he's broken into my house andis waiting to ambush me. After
I fall asleep this evening, Izip the cot cover up and place a
handful of extra gloves in its frontpouch. Jennifer asks loudly from the closet,
(38:34):
can you grab me a towel?My hair is so wet. Thinking
nothing of the request, I walkover to one of the cabinets and grab
a large white towel and walk itover to the closet, announcing my presence
as I approach so she doesn't thinkI'm trying to sneak a peek or something.
Okay, bringing it in now,thanks, Grant. Just put it
on the shelf. Breaking the thresholdof the closet, I see Jennifer standing
(38:57):
with her back toward me. She'sstanding there shirtless, with her pants and
shoes still on, wringing her hairout on the carpet. I'm surprised by
what I see, but not bywhat you think. Sure, I never
would have imagined that Jennifer would beso comfortable changing in front of her coworker.
But what absolutely blew my mind wasthe full sized back tattoo that Jennifer
has of a dream catcher running fromher shoulder blades to her butt. Oh
(39:21):
my god, I think to myself, what an ugly tattoo. I keep
that thought to myself and say,here you go, putting the towel on
the shelf next to her before scurryingout. Don't ask me about my tattoo.
She says, it's stupid and waytoo big. Oh no, it's
cool, I say, my voicegetting higher as I respond, while pushing
the cot out of the operating room, hoping she can't tell that I agree
(39:42):
with her. A moment or twolater, Jennifer steps out of the closet
wearing yoga pants, flip flops,and a faded Simple Plan T shirt.
I can't contain myself when I seeher laughing loudly. I say, you
like Simple Plan enough to own aT shirt? She smiles and tells me
to shut up. In a PatrickBateman moment, I suddenly remember I need
to return the copy of The Strangerson DVDs, sitting in the front seat
(40:06):
of the van to Hollywood Video.When Jennifer takes me home and I remind
her of that, that's right,I forgot you have that? Do you
want to watch it? Again,she asks, like right now, I
say, confused by the question,looking at the clock in the operating room.
It's nine pm. Now, Yeah, we can watch it in the
chapel and the big projector you know, I've never thought to do that,
but yes, saying enthusiastically, thinkingabout how much scarier the Strangers would be
(40:30):
inside an empty funeral chapel. Cool, go put the cop back in the
van and grab it. I'll turnthe lights on in the chapel. As
I walk away, Jennifer ads,grab that bottle of vodka two. We
should have a cocktail. About sevenminutes later, Jennifer and I are sitting
in the dark on two large wingbacked chairs with our feet up on a
casket beer, watching the opening sceneof The Strangers on the wall at the
(40:52):
front of the chapel. I ratedthe basement fridge for dia pepsi and made
cocktails and two large coffee tumblers Ifound under the sink in the break room.
I don't think my dad would approveof this, but fuck it,
I'm on vacation and I'm sure he'sasleep and none the wisers, so I
don't have to worry about him oranyone else for that matter, crashing our
makeshift screening. Fifty minutes and threedrinks each later, I'm drunk and honestly
(41:15):
pretty freaked out. Even though Iknow all the beats from seeing this movie
four other times this week, it'sstill scary. Jennifer hasn't said a word
in about twenty minutes. I glanceover. Her eyes are glued to the
screen. She's terrified. I standup until Jennifer, I need to use
the boy's room. I set mydrink on the casket beer and make my
way to the restroom. While standingat the journal, I think to myself,
(41:37):
Wow, after six days of beingutterly alone with nothing to do,
it feels nice to have a newfriend, someone to hang out with that
I'm not trying to sleep with,because we're coworkers and we respect each other's
professional boundaries enough to not be inappropriate. I smile at myself in the mirror
after splashing water on my face,realizing how drunk I am. I think
(41:57):
I can have another drink, Ithink to myself, before moving to the
door, quickly excited to see theend of the movie again. It's my
favorite part, just thinking of theline because you were home send shivers down
my spine. As I drunkenly shufflearound the corner and enter the hallway leading
to the chapel, I see ashadow figure that startles me. Standing in
the threshold where the chapel and thehallway meet, I jump and feel my
(42:20):
heart skip a beat. This isit. It's time. I'm being funeral
home invaded. For a moment,my adrenaline spikes and I feel myself slip
into fight mode. Hello, who'sthere? I say, timidly, standing
still a stone in the hallway.The shadow figure moves towards me and says,
grant, it's me. I gotscared and didn't want to be alone.
Oh my god, you scared theshit out of me, I say,
(42:42):
giggling and slightly out of breath.Jennifer walks towards me, and before
I have time to process what's happening, she puts her hand on my face,
moving closer to me, and ourlips touched. What the fuck is
happening, I think to myself,leaning into the kiss. Now it would
be ungentlemanly me to elaborate any furtheron what happened next, but I certainly
(43:04):
don't want to imply anything more happenedthan it did, because, as flawed
as I may be, I'm notreally the kiss and tell type. But
if I were into tasteful sharing andfelt so inclined to use baseball terms to
describe what happened that night, Iwould say the evening was spent mostly on
first base, but we might havesnuck in a double on the green leather
(43:25):
couch and the lobby. But again, I'm a gentleman and a consummate professional,
so I would never share something likethat. All I know is ned
and I have had a lot ofcrazy nights on call, but nothing like
this. Don't worry. We finishedthe movie and I only owed seventeen dollars
in late fees. Totally worth it. Monday, twelve fifteen pm. It's
(43:47):
my first day back from vacation andit's slow, no services, no visitations,
a perfect way to ease back intowork. I was a little worried
that it was going to be awkwardbetween Jennifer and I this morning, but
it wasn't at all. In fact, when Jennifer came in today, she
made it a point to tell meshe had a really nice time on Friday
night with a wink, so Iguess she was flirting that day she came
(44:09):
in for her interview. Who knows. The whole making out with the coworker
thing felt wrong, but Jennifer didn'tseem to be bothered in the slightest by
it, so I figured I wouldn'tbe either. Ned Jennifer and I are
the only ones here at the moment. Everyone else is out to lunch.
They're both upstairs deep cleaning the preproom while I'm getting ready to shampoo the
(44:29):
back porch carpets before closing it downfor the winner. The back doorbell rings.
I drop what I'm doing and brisklymoved to the lobby. Standing there
waiting for me is a slender,handsome looking, dark haired man in his
early to mid twenties. He smileswhen we make eye contact and I say,
Hi, how can I help you? The man smiles back at me
and says, hey, is Jenniferaround? Hang tight? Let me intercommer
(44:52):
Jennifer to the lobby. Please Jenniferto the lobby. Knowing it will take
a minute or two for Jennifer tocome down, I asked gentleman if he
wants a bottle of water or anything. He politely declines, and has a
seat on the green leather couch inthe lobby. The green leather couch,
We talk about how crummy the weatherhas been for the last couple days before
(45:12):
hearing the sound of heels walking quicklydown the stairwell. The door opens and
Jennifer pops out and says, hey, guys. The man stands up when
he sees Jennifer. She looks atme like a deer in the headlights,
as if sending me a message telepathically. What's that look for, I think
to myself, Grant, I wantyou to meet my boyfriend Andrea. Almost
unable to speak, I raise myhand to shake his. I'm in shock,
(45:37):
but I don't let it FaZe me. Just like being sick at a
visitation, I feign interest and excitement. The show must go on, right,
So I overcorrect and, with toomuch enthusiasm, say, oh,
so you're the Andre. I've heardso much about pleasure to meet you.
We all love having your girlfriend aroundthe office. Andre smiles and says,
good to meet you too, man, I've heard a lot about you.
(45:59):
Oh I bet you have, Ithink to myself. Andre kisses Jennifer on
the lips and says want to goto lunch. She smiles and says yes,
quickly grabbing her purse and walking downthe ramp to the exit door.
Before she steps out, she looksback and we make eye contact for a
brief second. She mouths the wordsI'm sorry to me before walking out,
letting the doors shut behind her.Standing alone in the lobby, I look
(46:22):
up at the chandelier above my head. There's a cobweb dangling down from one
of the light bulb covers. Itry to reach up and grab it,
but it's too high. Defeated,I sit down on the green leather couch.
I'm not sure how to feel rightnow. My name is Grant and
these are my Funeral Home Stories.Hopefully you enjoyed this episode. If you
did, and you liked the podcast, please rate and review wherever you listen
(46:45):
and consider telling a friend. Thepodcast keeps growing every day and I couldn't
be happier. If you'd like tosupport my Funeral home Stories directly, head
over to my funeral Homestories dot comand get Collection one or the epilogue episode.
They're commercial free and all the moneygoes directly to me, which fucking
rules. And if you're interested,check out my other podcast, How to
(47:05):
Become a Terrible Person. It's incrediblydifferent than this podcast. It's hosted by
my beautiful fiance and I and mostof the people that listen to this podcast
that try it out, well theydon't like it, but maybe you will.
Anyway. The next chapter of MyFuneral Home Stories will be a premium
only podcast and it will drop onNovember seventeenth of twenty twenty three. More
(47:27):
to come on that later. Thanksfor listening.
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