10:30 this morning found me speeding down 405, smoking cigarettes and listening to the Violent Femmes, on my way to pick up my father's ashes. I hope you know that this will go down on your permanent record.

I walked into the office of the cremation society, which was in a stripmall near Newport Beach, and immediately two women, both wearing brilliant shades of Orange County lipstick, appeared from nowhere, smiling almost violently in my direction. I didn't know what to say. Um...hi, my name is Claire Smith and my father...Gerald Smith....

Oh, are you picking him up? one of the two asked me, still smiling.

Yes, I replied decisively.

I sat down in the front lobby, shelves prominently displaying a wide variety of tasteful and tacky urns on either side of me. After a few minutes one of the women emerged from the back carrying...

a white gift bag! The kind of gift bag that you would give to a friend on their birthday. It even had the tissue coming out through the top. Inside was a white plastic box containing the cremains.

I tried desperately to conceal my urge to laugh as I bent over my checkbook. Why are people so afraid of death? Why would someone think that they had to dress it up, a perfect little white gift of death? It looks like a wedding present. Here you go, Claire. Congratulations on your marraige to death. May you two always stand strong together through sickness and health.

After signing the necessary papers and handing over my check, I stood to leave. I picked up the bag by the handles and immediately realized how heavy it was. I thanked the woman and headed towards the door.

Thank you, and take care, Lorrie! one of the lipsticked women called out to me.

When I got in the car, I double checked that the box had my father's name on it.

It says that he was cremated on the 14th, which was last Thursday. I wonder what I was doing at that exact moment.
1:45:34 PM     comment []