If you’ve never taken a dare, start today. Don’t cheat yourself by not trying something just because it sounds difficult or out of the ordinary. It’s like when you take a road trip and luck into the best fried chicken you have ever eaten in the middle of Kansas at 2:30 in the afternoon. We don’t always plan for life lessons and sometimes you find the greatest discoveries when you are looking for something else. I guess that on the flip side of everything-happens-for-a-reason is sometimes things happen because you took a chance. I will admit that I did use my full people skill set in the following job. Experience is a good thing but it is still a funeral home.
Actual Newspaper classified ad:
Hiring: Embalmers Assistant, must have flexible schedule able to work weekends and holidays. Apply in person.
How my friend Jeff read it:
Work with dead people. Sweet.
How it should have read:
Hiring: Embalmers Assistant, on call every other night, must be willing to do the weirdest sh*t you can think of, not allergic to death, dying or flowers, able to mime sadness, strong stomach, strong heart.
Must be able to lift between 90 and 500lbs.
It started as a job search that ended in a dare. I was tired of lugging around beds and sofas for the local furniture store and needed a change. I was always told that working in food was below me and of no benefit so that job market for a 19 year old college kid was limited. My friend Jeff(morbid and obsessed with the movie Halloween) and I sat in my apartment checking out the newspaper classifieds when one of us noticed the above ad for an embalmers assistant. At first glance it sounded like a job title from the middle ages. I half expected to see tax clerk and bell ringer following the listing. I would have never given it a second look until Jeff says ‘I dare you to go apply for this job.’ That was all it took.
I made a call and briefly explained I didn’t own a suit, but that could be remedied. The gentleman informed me that if I were to be offered the job I would require a state licenese that the funeral home would help cover until my first check. Two days later I found myself in a black suit, tie and sharp black shoes(Wal-Mart specials). Out of respect to the dare I brought along Jeff. We pulled up out front and both agreed we couldn’t believe I was doing this. We were greeted by a friendly receptionist who led us into what can only be described as your grandmother’s living room. Wooden walls with charming accents of blue and gold. Color neutral carpet and soft peaceful music (elevator classics/ocean sounds). We thumbed through a few TIME magazines from 1975 and a book about dealing with death. We wondered if the four state rooms behind us were empty. If not, who were these people?
I was a young kid with no idea what I was getting myself into or how to conduct myself in an interview. I figured if I really wanted the job just nod in agreement and say stuff like ‘I love to work hard’ and ‘You can always count on me’. I remember being honest in the situation and didn’t lie but it would have been nice to know a few more details. I knew at the time that hours didn’t matter I just needed money. How bad could it be right?
My award winning charm and smile (plus a promise to be on-call) got me the job. I reported to work much the same way a Playboy photographer might, dressed to the nines ready to get dirty and assuming nudity might be part of my day. I hate to associate in any way the glamour of a wonderful magazine like Playboy with the absolutely unsexy world of a mortician but I think you get the picture. They didn’t hold back on day one, it is a business of death and that means dead people were all around.
As I basically shadowed the director that had interviewed me, he noted the different rooms starting in grandma’s living room and pointing out the four state rooms and a somewhat hidden door I hadn’t noticed prior. We continued down the rabbit hole and past the car washing garage and copy room. A small room for making arrangements and a show room of caskets (can I interest you in a 99’ metallic pea, with flip sides and, baby blue interior) ended the living side tour. Formally a true funeral ‘home’ we walked down the hallway to the ‘kitchen’. A strange smell permeated the door. As we walked in the room the whiteness and the lights were blinding. This once 1950s kitchen was now the embalming room. It was operating room clean and the tools looked similar to those in any great horror movie. A woman lie on the porcelain table covered from neck to ankle in a sheet. It didn’t so much startle me, but I was taken aback. Not the age or the color, not the closed eyes or the clean washed hair but the opening on her neck with the tubes protruding. I didn’t know how the process worked and now I was getting first hand experience up close and personal. 
It is amazing how even the strangest thing you have ever seen becomes a daily routine. It was about a week before I was allowed to make a cut to start the embalming process. It was also in the first couple days that we were called out to my first car wreck. Rolling in the black coach, (not hearse, people don’t like that word) we came up on the scene it was not what I expected. They had already pulled the two bodies from the vehicle and we simply helped place one in a body bag for transport. (CSI NCIS and cop show watchers will enjoy this next part, but be warned graphic imagery begins now.) The phrase ‘multiple compound fracture’ takes on a new meaning when you are physically holding a human leg in your hand that is suffering from this diagnosis. Broken ribs, a shattered wrist, head wounds and abrasions head to toe. It was in an instant that the bodies became non-human.
Before you start judging or maybe think I am a person with no heart let me make something clear, I have a great respect for people and for those peoples outlooks on the world. However, in the situation it was easy to mentally block the emotional attachments and face the task at hand. It was our job to make these people look presentable for their families and allow their connections to end in the best possible way. I would only end up working one other car accident in my brief time with the funeral home, but it was another eye opener. Nobody should ever have to see some of the things I saw but in a strange way I feel privileged to see something generally limited to doctors and soldiers. In the second accident a single car left the highway at speeds at or above 110mphs before flipping and catching fire.
There was a light drizzle that night. I was asleep at home with my wife and new son. Around two in the morning the phone rang, I suited up and met the director at the funeral home. He drove. We discussed the fact that people always jerk the wheel when an animal runs in front of the car and this causes problems. In a strange twist of fait only moments later we spotted and struck a raccoon. We arrived to find two fire trucks and three Oklahoma Highway Patrol cars sitting on the side of the road all empty. The firemen and officers stood along the shoulder watching out to the field where a black hunk of metal sits smoldering. They more or less pointed indicating the body was still in the car and we unloaded our gurney in our suits, ties and rubber gloves and marched out in the wet grass. Like something out of a haunted amusement ride the body was still sitting upright in the driver’s seat, charred and only recognizable as human from the skeleton and cooked skin. I could see all the organs. I reached through the car and grabbed near the knee and near the shoulder and with the help of the director we hefted the small mass out of the car and into a body bag lying on the ground. I had nightmares for a week.
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