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ninanevermore.
.
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Working in my office is not much different than working in any other office in any other industry with one small: occasionally the small talk you overhear or engage in involves embalming.
Often, I can spot the funeral home people – the ones who came to the corporate office from one of the field locations – from a mile away. A lot of the people in my office just plain look like morticians (my boss included). But if it's a woman, it's a little harder to tell. Lady morticians are often sweetly feminine in their appearance, and look more like the girl next who you would never expect in a million years knows how to preserve a dead body.
I was waiting for my turn at the microwave oven this afternoon with a woman who works on my floor, whose frozen dinner seemed to be taking forever to heat. She asked if I had plans for Easter, and I told her that my husband has weird days off, so we might be celebrating with an Easter Breakfast at my house.
"I'm lucky this year," she said, "I worked this weekend, so I have next weekend off."
I asked what she did on the weekends, and it turns out she works at one of the field locations as a funeral director and embalmer. She says she enjoys it, for the most part. I asked her if a holiday weekend was less busy than a regular weekend. I kind of figured most people would postpone a funeral for a few days, if they could, so everyone could attend the funeral.
She shook her head. "Maybe for young people, but we don't do a lot of young people. It's mostly old people and babies. Old people, they don't care. I don't mind the old people, but I don't like doing the babies."
"I guess it's harder so separate yourself from it emotionally, if it's a little kid?" I asked.
"It's more than that. The old people, they look dead. But the babies look like they're sleeping."
"Oh," I said, not really knowing what else to say. "I guess that would be kind of awful."
"It is, because then you have to cut them open..."
The microwave oven dinged to announce that her lunch was ready, even as a voice in my head was saying Stop right there, please. I've heard enough.
She grimaced as she took her Lean Cuisine Spaghetti Dinner out of the oven.
"We had a baby this weekend. No one wanted to do it. Everyone was like, 'I'll do this one, or I'll do that one, but I don't want to take the baby.' The person who came in at the end of the shift wound up with the job."
"At least it got done..."
"It always does. I mean, if you have to, you have to. You can't let it get to you too much or you'd go crazy, but you're still bummed about it for a few days."
"Was it a newborn?" I don't know why I asked that; I suppose because I know that birth is the most perilous time for an infant.
"A five month old, but it had health problems. It still had the tubes from the hospital in its nose and in its arms, and they hadn't done an autopsy so it must not have been unexpected." In Texas the law requires an autopsy for any death where the cause is unknown.
"How sad," I said. I'd have thought the hospital would remove the tubes. Maybe the nurses don't like to admit defeat and accept that all of their best efforts weren't enough. Better to leave all the life-sustaining tubes in place, as if they were just transferring the patient to another ward for someone to take over.
"It was," she agreed with a shrug.
My lunch was ready by that time, too, so we said goodbye and walked off in different directions.
I've read that the term "undertaker" was first applied to morticians because they undertake a task that most people find distasteful. In the time I've been at my job, I've met more than a few morticians, and even the ones who look the part are pretty normal in most other regards. I don't think I could do what they do, and it humanizes them to me somehow to know that in certain cases even they face a task they would just rather not undertake.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
Working in my office is not much different than working in any other office in any other industry with one small: occasionally the small talk you overhear or engage in involves embalming.
Often, I can spot the funeral home people – the ones who came to the corporate office from one of the field locations – from a mile away. A lot of the people in my office just plain look like morticians (my boss included). But if it's a woman, it's a little harder to tell. Lady morticians are often sweetly feminine in their appearance, and look more like the girl next who you would never expect in a million years knows how to preserve a dead body.
I was waiting for my turn at the microwave oven this afternoon with a woman who works on my floor, whose frozen dinner seemed to be taking forever to heat. She asked if I had plans for Easter, and I told her that my husband has weird days off, so we might be celebrating with an Easter Breakfast at my house.
"I'm lucky this year," she said, "I worked this weekend, so I have next weekend off."
I asked what she did on the weekends, and it turns out she works at one of the field locations as a funeral director and embalmer. She says she enjoys it, for the most part. I asked her if a holiday weekend was less busy than a regular weekend. I kind of figured most people would postpone a funeral for a few days, if they could, so everyone could attend the funeral.
She shook her head. "Maybe for young people, but we don't do a lot of young people. It's mostly old people and babies. Old people, they don't care. I don't mind the old people, but I don't like doing the babies."
"I guess it's harder so separate yourself from it emotionally, if it's a little kid?" I asked.
"It's more than that. The old people, they look dead. But the babies look like they're sleeping."
"Oh," I said, not really knowing what else to say. "I guess that would be kind of awful."
"It is, because then you have to cut them open..."
The microwave oven dinged to announce that her lunch was ready, even as a voice in my head was saying Stop right there, please. I've heard enough.
She grimaced as she took her Lean Cuisine Spaghetti Dinner out of the oven.
"We had a baby this weekend. No one wanted to do it. Everyone was like, 'I'll do this one, or I'll do that one, but I don't want to take the baby.' The person who came in at the end of the shift wound up with the job."
"At least it got done..."
"It always does. I mean, if you have to, you have to. You can't let it get to you too much or you'd go crazy, but you're still bummed about it for a few days."
"Was it a newborn?" I don't know why I asked that; I suppose because I know that birth is the most perilous time for an infant.
"A five month old, but it had health problems. It still had the tubes from the hospital in its nose and in its arms, and they hadn't done an autopsy so it must not have been unexpected." In Texas the law requires an autopsy for any death where the cause is unknown.
"How sad," I said. I'd have thought the hospital would remove the tubes. Maybe the nurses don't like to admit defeat and accept that all of their best efforts weren't enough. Better to leave all the life-sustaining tubes in place, as if they were just transferring the patient to another ward for someone to take over.
"It was," she agreed with a shrug.
My lunch was ready by that time, too, so we said goodbye and walked off in different directions.
I've read that the term "undertaker" was first applied to morticians because they undertake a task that most people find distasteful. In the time I've been at my job, I've met more than a few morticians, and even the ones who look the part are pretty normal in most other regards. I don't think I could do what they do, and it humanizes them to me somehow to know that in certain cases even they face a task they would just rather not undertake.
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no subject
Date: 2009-04-06 07:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-06 08:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-06 08:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-06 08:17 pm (UTC)I'm not cut out for that line of work. Couldn't do it.
All and all, it was a very weird conversation to have at lunch time. o_O
heh
Date: 2009-04-06 08:32 pm (UTC)Re: heh
Date: 2009-04-06 08:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-06 08:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-07 03:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-06 09:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-07 03:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-07 03:01 pm (UTC)*HUGS*
no subject
Date: 2009-04-07 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-07 04:42 pm (UTC)