To the people who call me...
I realize you are grieving. I do sympathize. And I know calling me is one of the harder things you've had to do in a long time. But I really feel that even with grief on your mind, there are a few things I can ask of you.
1. Before dialing, put down your pot, crack pipe, meth, cocaine, glue bag, dime bag, black bag, grocery bag, 8-ball, 9-iron, hair bleach, almonds, welding torch, loaded diaper, Indian food, or whatever drug you're currently ingesting.
2. Make sure you can speak some language that is not Slobbering Drunk. English is preferred, though Spanish is moderately workable. Crying is fine, as well. Just not Slobbering Drunk, or it's dialect, Slavering Coke Fiend.
3. Check and make sure someone you know has actually died within the last decade, and not just that you fell asleep while watching Steel Magnolias and are now convinced that your sister Julia is dead.
4. Try to not be standing within a quarter mile of "Big Mama" or whatever sobriquet you call that shrieking female in the background who is not only drowning out your voice, but the voice of the editor sitting ten feet away from me, with her "Lawdy lawdy" and "Oh Jay-susssss" and "Chitlins".
5. When I ask you whether a funeral home is handling arrangements, try not to burn the gears in your brain as you desperately try to remember what the word "is" means.
6. We offer a free service. Do not bitch because you can't have exactly what you want for free. Do not try to inform me that you're "special" and deserve exactly what you want for free. Get this straight. I deal with death. All day. Every day. For at least four hours a day. I have an average of 11 deaths a day, and each one of those people has a family attached. And 90% of those families are thrilled to get a free obit, even if it's not delivered with scratch-and-sniff rose smell. If those people, who are losing infants, children, spouses, etc., are not so overcome with grief, then neither are you. You are just an ass.
7. Do not say "Well, since we don't have any A, then we can just put something extra for B." No. No you can't. This is free. For free, you get to put something in A and something in B. If you don't have any A, oh well. You do not get to fill B at the expense of A. No. Down that path is madness. Free has rules because otherwise, people would be writing whole colums of B, refusing to include A, or throwing out B and A and trying to include C. C is not allowed. NO DAMN C.
8. Do not yell at me for not crying on the phone with you. I've lost my share of family and I know it sucks. But to you, this is the most devastating day of your life, and to me, it's more paperwork. I will sympathize as a human being, but if I were required to wreck my day for every single obituary I get, I wouldn't be working here, I'd be a personal grief counselor somewhere.
9. There is no one above me. Even if you get to the editor, he has no clue about dead people. He will throw you back at me so fast that Hank Aaron will say "Damn, that was fast." When it comes to death at this newspaper, I AM GOD.
10. I think it bears repeating at this point to please not be drunk, high, stoned, in the process, or jonesing when you call me.
11. If you ask me about something that is not death, I will try to help you out of sheer politeness. But if I don't know, do not freak out when I transfer you to someone who does.
I'm sure I'll have more later, but there's some drunk guy on the phone asking me about his sister Julia.
I realize you are grieving. I do sympathize. And I know calling me is one of the harder things you've had to do in a long time. But I really feel that even with grief on your mind, there are a few things I can ask of you.
1. Before dialing, put down your pot, crack pipe, meth, cocaine, glue bag, dime bag, black bag, grocery bag, 8-ball, 9-iron, hair bleach, almonds, welding torch, loaded diaper, Indian food, or whatever drug you're currently ingesting.
2. Make sure you can speak some language that is not Slobbering Drunk. English is preferred, though Spanish is moderately workable. Crying is fine, as well. Just not Slobbering Drunk, or it's dialect, Slavering Coke Fiend.
3. Check and make sure someone you know has actually died within the last decade, and not just that you fell asleep while watching Steel Magnolias and are now convinced that your sister Julia is dead.
4. Try to not be standing within a quarter mile of "Big Mama" or whatever sobriquet you call that shrieking female in the background who is not only drowning out your voice, but the voice of the editor sitting ten feet away from me, with her "Lawdy lawdy" and "Oh Jay-susssss" and "Chitlins".
5. When I ask you whether a funeral home is handling arrangements, try not to burn the gears in your brain as you desperately try to remember what the word "is" means.
6. We offer a free service. Do not bitch because you can't have exactly what you want for free. Do not try to inform me that you're "special" and deserve exactly what you want for free. Get this straight. I deal with death. All day. Every day. For at least four hours a day. I have an average of 11 deaths a day, and each one of those people has a family attached. And 90% of those families are thrilled to get a free obit, even if it's not delivered with scratch-and-sniff rose smell. If those people, who are losing infants, children, spouses, etc., are not so overcome with grief, then neither are you. You are just an ass.
7. Do not say "Well, since we don't have any A, then we can just put something extra for B." No. No you can't. This is free. For free, you get to put something in A and something in B. If you don't have any A, oh well. You do not get to fill B at the expense of A. No. Down that path is madness. Free has rules because otherwise, people would be writing whole colums of B, refusing to include A, or throwing out B and A and trying to include C. C is not allowed. NO DAMN C.
8. Do not yell at me for not crying on the phone with you. I've lost my share of family and I know it sucks. But to you, this is the most devastating day of your life, and to me, it's more paperwork. I will sympathize as a human being, but if I were required to wreck my day for every single obituary I get, I wouldn't be working here, I'd be a personal grief counselor somewhere.
9. There is no one above me. Even if you get to the editor, he has no clue about dead people. He will throw you back at me so fast that Hank Aaron will say "Damn, that was fast." When it comes to death at this newspaper, I AM GOD.
10. I think it bears repeating at this point to please not be drunk, high, stoned, in the process, or jonesing when you call me.
11. If you ask me about something that is not death, I will try to help you out of sheer politeness. But if I don't know, do not freak out when I transfer you to someone who does.
I'm sure I'll have more later, but there's some drunk guy on the phone asking me about his sister Julia.
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