(A relative in another state has passed away. My part of the family can’t make the funeral, but an elderly relative asks me to help him order flowers. I call a national florist chain five days before the funeral. I get a wonderful, helpful rep who helps me pick out the flowers my relative wants, and I even pay extra to have the flowers delivered on a Sunday, the morning of the funeral. One hour before the funeral, I get an automated call saying there was a problem with the order and it will not be delivered. I call the number but get no answer, just a recorded message asking me to leave a message at the beep. I get a call back THAT EVENING, hours after the funeral ends. The rep calling apologizes and comes up with some story that they didn’t have the flowers I ordered to even make the basket. He offers to deliver flowers on the next day to the gravesite, instead. I tell him no thanks; I wanted flowers for the funeral. I demand my money back. I am told I have to call customer service on Monday. I do.)

Customer Service: “Yes, ma’am. I am sorry, but we do not deliver on Sunday so—”

Me: “They why did your rep not only promise me he would, but also charged me extra for Sunday delivery?”

Customer Service: “Yeah, I don’t know. But I can have flowers delivered to the gravesite.”

Me: “No. The funeral was yesterday. I wanted them for the funeral. I paid you for a service, and you failed to provide the service. The reason is irrelevant. So, I want my money back.”

Customer Service: “Well now, instead, I can give you a discount on your next order and we will send a nice fruit bouquet to a family member. How about—”

Me: “No, I do not want fruit. I paid you extra to have flowers delivered to a funeral on a Sunday. You have failed to do so; therefore, I want my money back.”

(He starts trying to pass off a partial refund, trying to tell me that he still had to pay for the flowers and the employees. I tell him that’s not my problem and that his employee has already admitted that they didn’t even have the flowers. I keep repeating that I paid for a product, I did not get it, and I want my money back. After more BS, I tell him to forget it; I will call my bank and report this as fraud. He is not happy at all, and tries to cop an attitude with me. I hang up and call the bank. It turns out this national company has A LOT of complaints just like mine; they pull this all the time. I call to file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau, and am told that the company has been thrown out due to the large number of complaints. They have a 98% negative rating on most online sites. They sell huge arrangements, like for funerals and weddings, don’t deliver, and then try to pass on cheap fruit arrangements to the customers. I am afraid to tell my elderly relative what happened.)

Relative: *sighs* “Well, it serves me right.”

Me: “What ever do you mean?”

Relative: “I should have sent a donation to his favorite charity instead. That’s what he would have wanted. Not stupid flowers.”

(We did end up sending double the amount we would have paid for the flowers to a worthy charity. I think it ended as it should.)

My paternal grandfather was an odd man in many ways, but the one pertaining to this story was the fact that, when he was through with something, that was the end of the discussion in his mind. It was not unusual for him to have one of my aunts drive him forty-five minutes to our house for a visit, as he had no driver’s license, visit with us for less than fifteen minutes, then announce, “Okay, I’m ready to go home!”

He was also infamous for interrupting prayers over meals. If he thought a prayer had gone on long enough, he would shout, “Amen!” and start eating or serving himself. As is the case with a lot of older people, his behavior continued without comment.

When I was five years old, Grandpa passed away. I don’t remember this incident, but according to family legend, I was quiet and well-behaved throughout the entire funeral… until we got to the cemetery. Then, in the middle of the dedicatory prayer over the grave, I spoke up at the top of my five-year-old lungs:

“WHEN ARE WE GOING HOME?!”

At any other funeral, I’m sure the family would have been mortified. But since this was Grandpa, everyone burst into much-needed laughter and remarked, “Yup, she’s Grandpa’s girl.”

(My father passed away shortly before Labor Day, so my mother [his ex-wife] and I have driven to Tennessee together for the funeral, and to bring back several antiques that he was storing for me after his parents died. All throughout packing for the journey, Mom has been insisting I pack shorts. I don’t like wearing shorts, and instead pack jeans.)

Mom: “[My Name], you’re going to burn up! It’s going to be just boiling when we get there!”

Me: “Eh. I’ll be fine.”

Mom: “Just one pair! You’re going to be miserable, and I don’t want to have to put up with your complaining!”

Me: “Whatever.”

(And wouldn’t you know it, for the entire 900-mile trip up there it is cold, wet, and miserable. I, in my jeans, am perfectly fine, while my mom is complaining about how cold it is. We are there for three days, and only on the day of the burial is it nice and sunny.)

Me: “’[My Name], please. Bring shorts. It’s going to be so hot. You’re going to be so miserable. I don’t want to hear you complain.’”

Mom: *laughing, and trying to sound angry* “Shut up. If you don’t shut your mouth, I’m going to kick your a**!”

(An elderly man from my church has recently passed away. The day after the funeral, a group of us meet at a friend’s house for dinner. We’re playing some board games when some little cakes get brought out for dessert.)

Friend #1: “These are leftovers from [Recently Deceased Man’s] funeral.”

Friend #2: “As long as they’re not leftovers of [Recently Deceased Man].”

Me: “He always was a sweet guy.”

(Everyone laughs.)

Friend #3: *trying to recover from laughing* “That’s awful!”

Me: “Hey, he got his just desserts.”

(When it comes to jokes, dark humour is a piece of cake.)

Related:
Death By Chocolate, Part 7
Death By Chocolate, Part 6
Death By Chocolate, Part 5
Death By Chocolate, Part 4
Death By Chocolate, Part 3

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Friend: “I’ve got something really important to tell you.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

Friend: *deep breath* “All that chocolate you gave me…”

Me: “From last year?”

Friend: “I ate it all before coming over. And it feels like it’s pulling on my intestines.”

Me: “…”

Friend: “I think I need the toilet, REALLY BAD.”

Me: “Well, go?”

(He told me this, at full volume, at my brother’s funeral. Everyone heard. He was in the toilet so long, we were billed for extending the service.)