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ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking about the two days I worked at a funeral home last week. Or rather, the two days I followed other people around while they worked at a funeral home last week. Mostly, I just watched, listened and learned.
The main thing I took away from the experience is that working in a funeral home is a lot like working in a restaurant. In both, the paying customers are usually seated in rooms decorated with understated elegance with soothing music playing from speakers in the ceiling. When you go through the door marked "Private" to the back, where the staff hangs out, things are very different. The elegance gives way to stark walls covered with OSHA notices, whiteboards, charts, and the odd motivational poster for the sales team (if you think that funeral homes are about helping people in their time of need rather than making money, then you probably think the same thing about hospitals, all well). The walls tend to need painting and everyone shares work resources and trips over each other. Most notable is the way that the cool, professional people serving you turn into flesh and blood human beings who tell jokes, tease, and complain just like you do at your own job.
There was nothing to see on the macabre side; bodies are taken off site for embalming and cremation (at a place called the "service center"), and only the clothes and make up are handled at the funeral home itself. On the days I was there, there were no funerals scheduled, so I didn't get to see what happens behind the scenes at one. I did get a tour of the cemetery (only opened since 1994) and the chapel, and an overview of the business side of death. I sat in and observed a couple of "at need" families making funeral arrangements, which was not nearly as emotional as I supposed it would be. People have a way of stealing themselves and doing what needs to be done. It is alone in their bedroom at home that most of them fall apart. Planning the funeral has the paradoxical effect of keeping their minds off of how their lives have just changed.
The one part I found kind of funny was the cookies. When a family comes in, they are settled into a cozy room and offered refreshments: a glass of water or a cup of coffee, and a plate of cookies. The funeral home keeps a freezer full of Otis Spunkmeyer cookie dough balls, and has a special Otis Spunkmeyer oven to bake them in. The receptionist is in charge of cookie baking, and her main gripe is that when she takes them out of the oven and sets them out to cool 15 minutes before a family is scheduled to arrive, they tend to get gobbled up by hungry funeral directors and office workers before she can retrieve them. She always has to bake extras, and puts a note on top of the cooling cookies saying they they are for the families. The staff pretends not to see these notes as they sneak the sweets out from underneath them.
The family often accepts the water, but most of them say that the cookies are not needed and that they just aren't hungry. I noticed that every time they were left alone in the room for a little while, though, a cookie (or two) would disappear. The bereaved soon discover that on the most awful day of their lives, a little something sweet is a nice thing to have, especially if it is warm and soft and just out of the oven. I think an ice-cold glass of milk would be nice touch, but that is never offered, perhaps because if people accept a glass of milk, they know that you know that they are going to want a cookie to go with it, and grief cookies are eaten on the sly.
The best part of my time at the funeral homw was that I the an opportunity to answer a question that has intrigued me for a long time: what does the inside of a coffin feel like? They always look so plush and comfortable, but are they? Before you read any further, I assure you that I did not climb inside of one (the risk of getting caught being too great). I did, however, slip into the display room when no one was looking and press my hand down on the pillows and on the plush lining of all the sales models. The pillows are large and firm, like the cushions on a sofa. The linings inside of the coffins were soft and plush. It would not be uncomfortable to take a nap in one, provided that you could sleep knowing you were lying in a coffin. The only exception was the economy model, on display because the state of Texas requires that the cheapest coffin be shown right along with all of the nicer ones. It was made of plywood covered in upholstery. Its pillow was kind of flimsy, and the lining was a thin layer of batting over a piece of plywood.
The idea of the comfy coffins tickles me a little. The person going in the coffin doesn't care one whit about comfort anymore. But when someone goes in to make funeral arrangements, they do so at a point when they have yet to separate the idea of the person they knew from the earthly remains to be disposed off. They want their loved one to look comfortable, so they buy a box that they themselves wouldn't mind lying in if they had to.
As for me, the canvas box would suit me fine. It would make people look at me and say, "Isn't that just like Nina? Cheap and tacky to the very end."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The main thing I took away from the experience is that working in a funeral home is a lot like working in a restaurant. In both, the paying customers are usually seated in rooms decorated with understated elegance with soothing music playing from speakers in the ceiling. When you go through the door marked "Private" to the back, where the staff hangs out, things are very different. The elegance gives way to stark walls covered with OSHA notices, whiteboards, charts, and the odd motivational poster for the sales team (if you think that funeral homes are about helping people in their time of need rather than making money, then you probably think the same thing about hospitals, all well). The walls tend to need painting and everyone shares work resources and trips over each other. Most notable is the way that the cool, professional people serving you turn into flesh and blood human beings who tell jokes, tease, and complain just like you do at your own job.
There was nothing to see on the macabre side; bodies are taken off site for embalming and cremation (at a place called the "service center"), and only the clothes and make up are handled at the funeral home itself. On the days I was there, there were no funerals scheduled, so I didn't get to see what happens behind the scenes at one. I did get a tour of the cemetery (only opened since 1994) and the chapel, and an overview of the business side of death. I sat in and observed a couple of "at need" families making funeral arrangements, which was not nearly as emotional as I supposed it would be. People have a way of stealing themselves and doing what needs to be done. It is alone in their bedroom at home that most of them fall apart. Planning the funeral has the paradoxical effect of keeping their minds off of how their lives have just changed.
The one part I found kind of funny was the cookies. When a family comes in, they are settled into a cozy room and offered refreshments: a glass of water or a cup of coffee, and a plate of cookies. The funeral home keeps a freezer full of Otis Spunkmeyer cookie dough balls, and has a special Otis Spunkmeyer oven to bake them in. The receptionist is in charge of cookie baking, and her main gripe is that when she takes them out of the oven and sets them out to cool 15 minutes before a family is scheduled to arrive, they tend to get gobbled up by hungry funeral directors and office workers before she can retrieve them. She always has to bake extras, and puts a note on top of the cooling cookies saying they they are for the families. The staff pretends not to see these notes as they sneak the sweets out from underneath them.
The family often accepts the water, but most of them say that the cookies are not needed and that they just aren't hungry. I noticed that every time they were left alone in the room for a little while, though, a cookie (or two) would disappear. The bereaved soon discover that on the most awful day of their lives, a little something sweet is a nice thing to have, especially if it is warm and soft and just out of the oven. I think an ice-cold glass of milk would be nice touch, but that is never offered, perhaps because if people accept a glass of milk, they know that you know that they are going to want a cookie to go with it, and grief cookies are eaten on the sly.
The best part of my time at the funeral homw was that I the an opportunity to answer a question that has intrigued me for a long time: what does the inside of a coffin feel like? They always look so plush and comfortable, but are they? Before you read any further, I assure you that I did not climb inside of one (the risk of getting caught being too great). I did, however, slip into the display room when no one was looking and press my hand down on the pillows and on the plush lining of all the sales models. The pillows are large and firm, like the cushions on a sofa. The linings inside of the coffins were soft and plush. It would not be uncomfortable to take a nap in one, provided that you could sleep knowing you were lying in a coffin. The only exception was the economy model, on display because the state of Texas requires that the cheapest coffin be shown right along with all of the nicer ones. It was made of plywood covered in upholstery. Its pillow was kind of flimsy, and the lining was a thin layer of batting over a piece of plywood.
The idea of the comfy coffins tickles me a little. The person going in the coffin doesn't care one whit about comfort anymore. But when someone goes in to make funeral arrangements, they do so at a point when they have yet to separate the idea of the person they knew from the earthly remains to be disposed off. They want their loved one to look comfortable, so they buy a box that they themselves wouldn't mind lying in if they had to.
As for me, the canvas box would suit me fine. It would make people look at me and say, "Isn't that just like Nina? Cheap and tacky to the very end."
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Date: 2008-03-28 03:31 am (UTC)And, yes... that oldest grave listed (click on "Internments") is our family connection to the James Boys! She was his First Cousin!