Dead Man Watching

Dead Man Watching

“I’m not afraid of death; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”

-Woody Allen

I’m dead now, and let me tell you it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. No one is running around in a puffy burnt orange shirt that one of the Three Musketeers left behind, molding gooey pottery stuff to music with some hot chick, or dragging some psychotic kid who sees dead people all over town. No, it’s a pretty static, uneventful existence, and cold… and dark… all the time. And my wife got me a bargain basement casket. I think she got it on eBay. So, I don’t think it will be long before it will be wet in here. And I’m guessing the bugs, beetles, and worms will eventually get me. For five hundred bucks more she could have gotten me a sealer… the bitch.

I bought the farm when I was just sixty-two. It probably wasn’t a good idea to consider Little Debbie snack cakes a major food group. I guess I put too much faith in my idea of a dietary supplement. You know those little one-a-day vitamin pills? I was taking two so I thought I’d be ok. A 12-pack of beer every night also might not have been a good idea. But I liked beer, and if you were married to Marge you’d drink too.

So, I had just teed off at the par three 16^th hole. The ball ended up just five feet from the pin, the best shot of my life. I was so excited that I had the big one. I didn’t pass out or anything. I just felt sick and weak. My golf partner, Clem, he had the best round of his life going so he didn’t want to take me to the hospital right away. He helped get me into the golf cart, drove me up to the parking lot, and put me in the back seat of his car. Clem, he’s a pretty good guy, so he got a little blanket out of his trunk and put it over me. When he got back, I was dead.

I had always told Marge I wanted a closed casket so she had the casket open at the wake just to piss me off. That was the worst. All these people I never liked looking at me and saying the dumbest things, like “He looks good”. Jesus Christ, how good could a guy look when he’s dead? Or, “He looks so peaceful.” No kidding. You don’t often see a lot of turmoil in a dead guy. Marge came by seven times just to make sure I was dead.

I was surprised to see Uncle Bill there. I thought he was already dead. And a bunch of other relatives I never liked. Even my jackass boss showed up. He’s probably ticked off that I didn’t finish my quarterly report before I kicked the bucket. Marge spent most of the night off in a corner with her gaggle of old hags. Gee, I wonder if they’re talking about me. I’m not seeing a lot of sad faces over there. Oh, look who’s joining the “Old Biddie Bunch”. It’s Harriet, our next-door neighbor who bears a striking resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West, and she’s the ‘looker” of the group. I bet her husband Herbie wishes he were lying next to me right now.

Like most people, I never gave much thought to dying, you know, to not be alive anymore. That is puzzling as that’s the only thing we know will someday definitely happen to us. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so shocked when it happened to me if I would have given it a little thought ahead of time. I did sometimes wonder what it would be like to be dead… and now I know. It’s nothing, the absence of everything. I’m nowhere and there’s no time. Nothing good can happen to me here (Bowling with the guys or golfing with Clem), but nothing bad can happen to me here (Marge and my soul-sucking job), so I guess it’s about a draw. Like Clem used to say, “Things could always be worse.” So, I guess I can live with it.

Great, Cousin Freddie’s here. I wonder if he’ll give me the twenty bucks he owes me. He could set it right here on this nice little pillow they gave me. A pillow? Who the hell gives a dead guy a pillow? I bet Marge brought one of our old pillows from home to save money. Oh, no! Marcie’s here. She’s the hottie just two cubicles over. Dammit, I don’t want her to see me like this. I think she was coming on to me. Just when I was ready to make the big move, I had to bite the big one. Life isn’t fair I’m telling you. I hope I look alright. They better have done a good job on my mustache. They should have put a mirror in here.

Oh, no. I just saw it. I’m wearing the gag gift tie I got at a bowling tournament banquet. It’s got a picture of a dog peeing on a fire hydrant with the caption, “Here’s to you!” No wonder so many people were laughing when they passed by. I don’t freaking believe it. That’s really low. I wonder if Marcie saw it. It would be hard to miss. Damn. I’m sure Marge and her friends are yucking it up over that.

Oh, my goodness! My bowling team is here. And they’re wearing their bowling shirts! How sweet. Ten-Pin Timmy, Gutterball Gary, and Big-Ball Bob. They called me the Mad Striker. I kind of liked that. We were always around the bottom of the league standings, but that didn’t matter. I’m pretty sure we topped the charts on the quantity of beer consumed. I wonder who they’ll get to replace me. I’m sure Clem would do it.

Wait a minute. What day is it? I’m pretty sure it’s Wednesday. Let’s see. I checked out on Sunday, they put me in cold storage for a day, then they did all that disgusting stuff they do to get me ready for the big showing, then a day to get everything ready…so, one, two, three…yes, it’s Wednesday. Bowling night at Bert’s Bowleree. These guys gave up their bowling night to be here! Oh, my goodness, I’m starting to tear up. A guy couldn’t ask for better friends than that.

Oh, crap, there’s a fly on my nose. That’s all I need. I must look ridiculous. People are going to be laughing at me. Where the hell is the funeral director guy? That’s probably not a good look for his business, you know, to have flies buzzing around the dead people on display. Now it’s walking around my mouth. Jesus, somebody do something. They should have hosed me down with “Off” or something before they put me out here. I hope someone doesn’t whack it with a fly swatter while it’s on my face. Clem just shooed it away! Good old Clem. He probably figures that makes up for leaving me in the car to die.

It smells pretty good in here with all the nice flowers. Clem sent a nice arrangemnet. He got it from a funeral he was at a couple of days ago to save money. Clem’s pretty smart that way. Marge ordered a huge basket of marigolds for the head of the casket because I’m allergic to them. She excelled at kicking a guy when he’s down.

The organ lady is pretty good. It’s nothing I’d have on my playlist, but it’s soft, soothing and relaxing. I would have gone with something a little more upbeat, but it’s ok. I was afraid I’d be hearing “Happy Days Are Here Again” all night. That would been a little embarrassing.

Oh, my God, here comes a priest. I’m surprised Marge didn’t bring in some voodoo guy from New Orleans to put some kind of curse on me and drive a stake through my heart.

“We gather here today to celebrate the life of Ernie Marks…”

Blah, blah, blah…

“He has been called home to the Father…”

Blah, blah, blah…

“… and he is in a better place.”

Blah, blah... wait, he might have nailed that one. After 30 years of being married to Marge, he might be right. But how did he know?

Man, they finally all left. I need a little peace and quiet. People staring at me all night when I’m not at my best was pretty stressful. The fluffy cushioning in here is nice, but I feel a little cramped. I’m 6’2” and Marge got a small casket to save money. Jesus Christ, I hope they didn’t cut my feet off to get me in here. I guess I don’t need them anymore, but that would have been a little cold.

I need a little rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day with the funeral and all. I wonder if they’ll leave the top up all night. I hope so. The top will be down for a long time after tomorrow.

The hearse I’m riding in is sweet. I never got to ride in a limo so I guess this sort of makes up for it. Clem says he was a limo driver once. That would have been a cool job. I bet I would have met a lot of big shots. I was in an ambulance once when Clem’s five iron slipped out of his hands and nailed me right in the face. That trip was pretty cool but I like this better- quieter and a smoother ride. I feel like I’m one of those big shots.

We never got burial plots so I wonder where they’re taking me. We just passed the turnoff to the town dump so that was a relief. “Heaven’s Rest Cemetery”- that sounds nice. I think I’ll be ok here. I guess the scenery doesn’t matter so much, but I do like the trees. I’m getting carried around by cousin Freddie, Clem, Ten-Pin Tim, Gutterball Gary, Big Ball Bob, and Bert from Bert’s Bowleree. Ten-Pin always complained that he had to carry me in our bowling tournaments. It’s kind of funny he really is carrying me now. I wonder if he thought of that.

It looks like the cemetery guys dug a pretty nice hole…straight lines and nice clean edges. They probably do a lot of this. Jesus Christ, Clem, don’t cry. You’re going to get me to cry. Oh, no, now Ten-Pin, Gutterball, and Big Ball are tearing up. Quick, get me into the damn hole. I don’t want this to turn into some kind of cryfest. That’s it, lower me right to the bottom. Now throw some dirt on me. Hmm, this seems like some pretty good dirt. I bet Clem could have found some good fishing worms in all of this.

I don’t hear anything. It must be night by now. It’s a little lonely in here, and really quiet. I can’t even hear a freaking cricket chirping down here. I don’t know who started this thing about burying people underground. They probably never had to be buried themselves. I’m sure they wouldn’t like it. I’d much rather be above ground where I could see what’s going on. See some birds and maybe some kids playing baseball. I could check on Clem’s golf game and root the guys on at their bowing matches. It would have been nice if Clem had slipped an iPad in here. But that’s ok. I think I’ll just go to sleep.