Todd Harra - Mortuary Confidential - Undertakers Spill the Dirt

Contributed by a volunteer in the Big Brother Program

Idefinitely hold the world record for having done the most embarrassing things (that’s right, things , plural) at work. I’m not talking about running out of gas on the freeway, splitting your pants and having nothing to change into, or falling asleep during an important meeting. All those things are embarrassing to a certain degree, but I’m talking about hitting the point where you want to crawl deep into a very dark hole and die. The type of embarrassment where you get heart palpitations and your mind goes blank and you can only focus on crawling into that hole. I’m sure everyone reading this has had moments of embarrassment, but see if they compare to a couple of my more glorious moments as the world’s most embarrassing funeral director.

I’ll preface the first incident by saying I spilled an entire cup of coffee down the widow’s dress the night of the wake. But that’s minor and can be solved with profuse apologies and a dry cleaner. If that were the worst thing that happened to me, I’d thank my lucky stars, but the incident happened while I was leading the funeral procession. The decedent was a pillar of the community, loved by all, and hated by none. He had quite a turnout for his send-off and there were at least fifty cars processing to the burial. The cemetery is in the next town over—a place I have been to many times during my career—but I was unaware there was road construction going on that day. The road I was planning on taking was blocked and I was forced to detour around it. I got hopelessly lost and led the entire procession down a dead end street.

You can imagine how I felt when I came to the barrier and had to do a three-point turn in the hearse, wait for the limo to do a five-point turn, and then wait for everyone else to turn their cars around and get back on their way. I finally found the cemetery by the grace of God, and let me tell you, I felt a lot of pairs of eyes on me that day!

It wasn’t too long after the dead-end-street incident (as my colleagues like to call it) that I decided to go for another Hallmark embarrassing moment. We were a little busy on a particular day and I made funeral arrangements with two families. I am generally very careful about making copious notes and keeping everything separate, but when I went to order the casket engraving for the first family, I put down the first name of the wrong man. I didn’t realize it when I faxed the order in. I didn’t realize it when I checked the proof. I even didn’t realize it when the casket arrived and I put the man in it. In my mind I had correctly matched their first and last names.

We had had the wake in the funeral home; celebrated the Mass of Christian Burial, and what I had done didn’t dawn on me until I invited the widow up to the casket at the cemetery. “Do you like the engraving?” I asked, hand on her back.

“That’s not my husband’s name!” she wailed.

I felt about six inches big that day. I postponed the burial, and ordered a new casket lid. But those two incidents can’t even hold a candle to the one incident that won me the title of having the “Most Embarrassing Moment in the World.” It went something like this:

I get a death call. “Mom” has passed.

I tell them I’ll be right over.

Of course, I stepped in dog poop in the front yard and didn’t notice until I managed to track it all over the house. It was a mess. Of course, it was a white carpet. Did I cut my losses and let another funeral director handle the call? No! I pressed on.

The family came into the funeral home the next day, and after many, many apologies—I hope you see a pattern emerging—and insisting I hire a carpet cleaning company, I made the funeral arrangements with them. The family left and I started making the necessary calls to organize the funeral. One of my employees came in and started asking me questions about something and I got sidetracked. Later, when I went back over my notes, I made a mental checklist of everything I had done (or thought I had done) and everything I had to do. I finished making the necessary arrangements and left for the day.

Three days later we had a viewing in church followed by the funeral service. Everything went perfectly. After the service, my colleague and I got all the cars lined up, and we hopped into the hearse and headed for the cemetery. It is one of those big corporate memorial parks that are extremely well run and maintained, and because of that, it is a popular destination for the local dearly departed. Following a nice twenty-minute ride from the church, I pulled into the gates expecting a cemetery lead car to escort us to the grave. No cemetery lead car waited.

That’s not a big deal. Sometimes the lead car gets tied up or is running late. So I headed off through the sprawling cemetery in the direction I thought the grave was, looking for the tent. We drove and drove through the miles of cemetery road, until I turned to my colleague and said, “This is ridiculous. Let’s just go to the cemetery office and find out where the grave is. Maybe we can get someone to take us over there.” I led the procession back through the cemetery and to the office, where I jumped out and ran in.

The cemetery secretary recognized me as I walked through the door. “Oh hi, Rob. What brings you here today?”

I looked at her peculiarly and replied, “The Allen funeral.”

“Who?”

“The interment I’ve got here today.”

She looked at me for a second and said, “We only had one on the books for today and it’s already come in.”

As I uttered the words, “What are you talking about?” it hit me. I hadn’t ordered the grave! I could tell by the look on her face she was thinking the exact same thing. At that point, for a fleeting few moments, I honestly considered just slipping out the back door and hitchhiking home. But instead I said, “How quickly can you set up a mock site?” I asked her.

“I’ll call the guys right now. Give us fifteen minutes.”

“You’re a lifesaver!”

As I walked out to the idling procession stretching out thirty cars down the cemetery drive, a thousand lies swirled through my head, but were interrupted by the pastor rolling down his car window and shouting none-too-kindly, “What’s the hold-up? I’ve got other things to do today!”

I sidled up to his window and growled, “Take it easy. There’s going to be a slight delay.”

Obviously agitated, he shouted at me, “I told you I could do this funeral if it was over by one o’clock and it’s one now!”

“Look,” I snapped at him, “if you want to leave, go ahead. I’ve got the Book of Common Prayer in the hearse. I’ll say the interment rites.”

If looks could have killed I would have been dead and buried right there. He emitted a humph, crossed his arms, and stared straight ahead. I took that to mean he was going to wait.

I strolled back another car and motioned for the son of the deceased to get out of his car.

“What’s the hold-up?” he asked me.

He was a really nice guy, and I decided honesty was the best policy no matter how stupid it made me look. Imagine, one of the biggest parts of my job—ordering the grave—and I can’t even remember to do that! My face was scarlet and I thought my heart would explode out of my chest when I said, “Look, Brad, to be totally honest with you, I forgot to order the grave opening, so they’re arranging a false setup. Once everyone leaves I’ll wait around until they dig the grave and put your mother in.”

He chuckled. “That’s no problem, Rob. Don’t feel bad.”

“Well, I—”