Attending a Funeral

Going to a funeral is often one of the saddest things we have to do in this world. Whether it's for a friend, a family member, or yourself, it always proves difficult to get over.

Whenever I'm invited to be a guest at a funeral I always feel honored and humbled. This is the deceased's final get-together and everyone wanted me to be a part of it. To show my gratitude I like to make sure I dress appropriately. I know many events have very strict rules when dealing with dress code; no white at a wedding, no hats in church, no yamakas at a rave, etc. Then there's the more intricate regulations like you shouldn't wear a ski mask on a date, but you should for a robbery. It's almost impossible to keep them all straight.

After thinking about how many ways there are to violate dress code, I finally throw on a tie-dye bandana and a pair of swimming flippers and head out the door. There is no rule against these items to my knowledge.

Upon pulling into the cemetery I'm finding it difficult to stop my car without first hitting every other vehicle in the parking lot. Flippers may be great for swimming and funerals, but driving is a whole new ballgame. Once I've cleared the last car I make my way into the cemetery where I begin plowing over all of the head stones. It'd be interesting to stop and mingle with the funeral folks, all of whom seem more curious about my goings ons than the funeral itself, but off the top of my head I can't think of a way to get my flipper out from under the gas pedal. Thinking outside the box, I reach my hand into the bag of apples that I brought for a dish to pass and start chucking them at the brake pedal. Every little bit helps.

I finally manage to bring the car to a halt through a skillful combination of throwing it in neutral, pulling the emergency brake, and crashing into a tree. Getting out of my now totaled car, I waddle in my flippers up to the ceremony feeling completely ridiculous that I no longer have a dish to pass. And by the way everyone is gawking, it's obvious they were expecting some fruit.

Once I'm standing with the congregation I let out a few bellows to convey my sadness. Then I jump into the hole they've dug for the casket to make sure it's regulation depth. Everyone just kind of gasps and looks around at each other as they anxiously await my findings. Usually the plot is the right dimensions, but if it's a bit shallow I may do a little digging.

After I'm done digging I often find it difficult to get back out of the hole. I try asking for help but everyone just stands there like they've seen a ghost. I just laugh and say how we're here for a funeral, not a haunting. Then I dig foot holds into one of the soil walls to use as a makeshift ladder. As I begin my ascent the side usually gives way burying me beneath earth, rock, and the funeral director. Wrangling my way out from underneath everything I can't help but feel ridiculous once again about the whole dish to pass thing. I tell myself to let it go, but it's hard. It looks like everyone would kill for an apple right about now.

As I collapse a few more walls I finally manage to scramble back up to the surface. Once I'm on my feet I'm usually confronted by someone who screams, "Who are you?! What are you doing here!? You've ruined the funeral!" To which I calmly respond, "Come on, it's only fruit." Then I push the casket into the hole to keep things moving along.

When all is said and done and I'm being lead away by police officers, I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right. Why did they ask who I was? There was an ad for the funeral in the obituary section of the local paper. Of course I was going to attend. I just laugh as I think about how some people are really bad at marketing.