I See Dead People: Being Part of the Ghoul Squad Has Nothing to Do with Halloween

 

 

I'm not the kind of guy who refuses to learn from experience. Well, at least, usually. Sometimes I plow ahead knowing full well the outcome of the endeavor probably isn't going to be positive. Those who know me well will insist I'm a glass-half-empty guy, but I normally don't view myself that way. If I was, I would have retreated to the blackness of depression or drunk myself into a permanent stupor long ago. No, I have always soldiered along, pushing forward with the expectation things will get better. It's been my experience that they do.

Sometimes I've had to swerve out of my comfort zone to make things happen. I've embarked on several leaps of faith over the years. My move to Greenville 12 years ago being among them. The odds were that a single, 57-year-old guy with few resources, no source of income or local emotional support could plant his flag in a strange land and make good. Well, to date, I wouldn't call where I am “making good,” but I've been successful keeping my nose above the waterline both emotionally and financially. As always, I've leaned on good friends and family to help keep me on the rails and my eye on the ball.

Staying on track through this WuFlu nonsense has been challenging. As I look around at my favorite restaurants, bars and breweries as they struggle to keep their doors open, at least a small staff employed and the wolves from the door, I realize I've had it pretty good since the two-week nationwide lockdown to flatten the curve began, oh, 38-or-so weeks ago.

Land of the free, home of the brave, my ass.

My largest client furloughed me in mid-April. In the world of business, freelancers are always the first to go. Hey, I've been doing this a long time. I get it. That's why businesses employ freelancers: They are easy to jettison when things get tough. They are also easy to bring back as things get better. This client is once again tossing some steady work my way. (Insert sigh of relief here.)

In the meantime, I haven't managed to keep the home fires burning by my good looks and savings. Good friends of mine in Greenville tossed me a lifeline more than three months ago. They own a funeral home. In fact, they own one of the busiest funeral homes in South Carolina. They offered me a job with the provision, I could work as much or as little as I want. I gladly took the offer.

This isn't my first foray into the funeral-home business. I worked at a Louisville funeral home during the summer between my freshman and sophomore years in college. It was 1970, and things in the funeral business were much different. I actually stayed in a small dormitory in the bowels of that funeral home every-other night and every-other weekend. My main job was to answer the phone in the middle of the night, take down the information needed to retrieve a body and call one of the licensed guys to come in to oversee the retrieval. He and I would then go to the private home, nursing home or morgue. I would also work services. On many a quiet evening there, buddies would arrive, pizza in hand, to keep me company. It was an interesting experience for a 19-year old.

Fifty years may have elapsed since my last funeral-home experience, but it's like riding a bike, right? Not exactly. I am still a member of the ghoul squad, retrieving bodies and doing whatever else is needed around the place, but an answering service and a guy who does all the after-dark pickups have replaced the dormitory. A giant leap forward, in my book.

A new wrinkle this go-round is doing cremations. This funeral home has a cremation oven, or a retort in polite company. One of my main responsibilities is everything involved in cremating. We probably average 13 or 14 cremations during a five-day-work week. That's a lot. Then there are the traditional burials on top of that. Yep, it's a busy place.

Do you want to know two things I've learned over the past three months? I'm willing to stick my hand in almost anything as long as I'm wearing latex gloves. Yep. I just wrote that.

The other thing to which I can now attest is, widespread obesity is a thing. I am still suffering from a shoulder tweak I received the second day on the job trying to push a 350-pound lardass into the oven. That's the easy part, though. Trying to get that 350 pounds down three flights of stairs is the hard part. I need to get back to the gym.

I won't say my presence is invaluable there, but I try to make a difference. I've even suggested sort of a happy way to answer the phone: “If you're soon to join the dear departed, we've got the equipment to get you started.” So, far they've declined to adopt this upbeat, informative greeting. I'm not sure why.

Until my inbox overflows with writing assignments, I will continue to work Wednesday through Friday to the tune of about 21 hours a week. Sporadically, I also work a service or two on my off days. I'm not growing rich, but it's always good to have steady money rolling in.