Funeral Home Greeter (2014)

Funeral home people are Messed Up.

Capital M U. They seriously deserve to have it embossed on their business cards.

It’s my first day. I’m a “greeter”, and Rita (my trainer) is showing me the ropes. She’s a little long in the tooth and wears an archaic blouse and skirt combo that reminds me of the kind old librarian from my book-hungry youth. Thus, Rita is instantly trustworthy. This woman is puppies and kittens and doilies, and oh my good god she is offering me a Wurther’s Original and I will trust her forever!

As we break down an elderly gentleman’s surprisingly cheery send off, Rita kindly instructs me to get some garbage bags in a room I’ve never been in before. I don’t think twice.

First red flag: Rita does not follow me in.

Turns out, while the deceased anticipate preparation for their final resting places, this is where they wait. I count four zombies– er, bodies– wrapped tightly in white plastic bags. The clock ticks the passing seconds loudly from the wall. I am momentarily stuck.

Upon my reemergence, bags in hand, Rita greets me with a smile of pure grandmotherly innocence. That is, if the definition of innocence has been replaced by that of “maniacal psychopath”.

“Find them, dear?”

“Yep," I flash her an obliviously cheerful smile before getting back to work, an extra bounce in my step.

Her expression falters; she looks shaken. She is expecting hand-on-heart dismay, and I can tell this little stunt has probably been a real riot in the past. My silence has perturbed her.

Two can play at this game, Rita.

It is 2014, and I have mastered the workplace skill of faking out the enemy—I mean, knowing your client.