Coworker: “Hello, this is [Coworker’s Name] calling from [Funeral Home]. I got your email about the music you’d like to be playing as your mother-in-law’s casket is carried in.”

Pause.

Coworker: “Well, you need to understand, we’d need to hear from both you and your wife to confirm you’d like that particular piece of music played.”

Pause.

Coworker: “It’s actually more common than you think, but due to the potentially upsetting nature of playing Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead at a funeral, we have a protocol.”

Pause.

Coworker: “I look forward to hearing from her.”

My coworker, hangs up, sighs, and looks at me.

Coworker: “They always think they’re soooo original with that song request.”

A minute or two later, the phone rings. My coworker answers it.

Coworker: *Sighs.* “Yes, sir… Highway To Hell is also on that list.”

I work at a funeral home. I am on a call with someone inquiring about his grandmother’s service. She’s still with us but she’s getting older so they’re putting her affairs in order.

Caller: “So I was just going through this list of fees, and I saw three hundred for transfer. What is that?”

Me: “That’s the fee to transfer your grandmother when she has passed from wherever she is to our funeral home.”

There’s an extended pause as the caller seems to noodle on this.

Caller: “Can’t I just chuck her in the passenger seat and drive her over?”

CONTENT WARNING: Cancer, Death

My last year in public education was horrendous. I had a narcissistic first-year principal. I had an undiagnosed emotionally disturbed student; the next year, I was told he was diagnosed after he bit a chunk out of another child’s face. I got inundated by an overflowing kindergarten class. I also learned that my mother was declining from stage four colon cancer that had metastasized to her liver and lungs.

I was in the lunchroom on duty when the hospice nurse called me to come immediately. My mom was actively dying. I left the lunchroom to find an administrator.

The front office was empty! I had no idea why. It turned out that every single person in the admin office had left for lunch, leaving absolutely no one there to handle emergencies that might crop up. Not knowing that at the time, I ran into the library, thinking they might be in there. When the librarian saw my face, she asked me what was wrong. I told her. She told me to get going and that she’d tell the principal to ensure my class was covered.

I left and got to the house with just a bit of time to spare, so I was able to say goodbye to my mother and tell her that I loved her.

That evening, I tried to call the principal and the assistant principal. Neither answered. One of my teacher friends told me she would talk to them for me.

Days later, at my mom’s viewing, the narcissistic first-year principal walked into the funeral home and told me she’d come to see if I was telling the truth. She wasn’t even talking quietly or being subtle; she just strolled directly into the service and loudly told me that she was there to see if I had been lying.

My brother was standing next to me, and he was stunned for a moment. Until, at least, she turned to him and — equally loudly — asked what my relationship was to the deceased. That snapped him out of it.

I can’t type what my brother said to her because of the kind of language he used. Let’s just say that much of her ancestry was in question, as were the number of brain cells she had. He also gave her a direct order to do some extremely anatomically difficult things involving intimacy. She looked ready to spit fire when she realized that the whole family had turned and were eyeing her in a way that suggested torches and pitchforks. She left.

Days later, I found out that our school secretary kept me from being fired by calling the Administration Building and explaining what had happened to me from beginning to end — and telling them that all the admin staff had left their post with no coverage. We got a new principal.

CONTENT WARNING: Dead Body (At a funeral, in a casket)

Recently, my grandmother died. Several weeks later, her funeral was organised. For us, it is a thirteen-hour drive from our town to hers. We drove nine hours the first day, slept at my aunt’s, and then drove the remaining hours the next morning.

The wake took place the next morning before the religious ceremony. Just before the lunch break, my aunt and mother requested we take some last pictures with her. At one point, [Aunt] requested a picture of herself and her siblings with our granny. I took some photographs.

Aunt: ”Do we look good?”

I replied without thinking.

Me: ”You all look alive.”

They were in front of Granny’s casket, and you could see her in the background of every photo. I was mortified, but they laughed at me. I explained that sometimes people would pose awkwardly for pictures and look like zombies with frozen expressions.

The next day, we travelled to my brother’s home about six hours away to spend the night. We were preparing the evening meal when we related the picture-taking incident.

Oldest Niece: *Matter-of-factly* ”Well… they all died laughing, then.”

The laughter took a long while to stop. My sister-in-law just looked exasperated. Like father, like daughter, weird humour included.

I work in the funeral business. Some of the most backhanded and entitled family behavior happens here.

Today, we have a lady who signed a contract to buy a grave back in 2020 and has not made a single payment toward it. She got a letter saying that she had until the end of her payment plan in December 2024 to pay in full or the grave she signed for would be essentially repossessed and put back into inventory.

She comes in all in a huff.

Lady: “Why are you repossessing my grave?!”

Me: “You haven’t made any payments on it.”

Lady: “Well, no! Eventually, I’m going to die, and when I do, my daughter will get all my money, so she can pay for the grave then.”

Essentially, she signed a contract agreeing to pay $5,000 and then just assumed that if she didn’t pay it, we would just keep the grave on “hold”. Then, it can be her child’s financial responsibility after she dies.

And then she had the nerve to get upset and throw a tantrum because we said we wouldn’t hold the grave she didn’t pay for.

Related:
A Grave Error In Judgement