Why did that room always remind him of supper?
I was talking with Tim who approached me a few minutes earlier. I was still at Katie Bloom’s, and he saw me there with my "boyfriend," and wanted to know where he went. I told Tim that my "boyfriend" was a blind date. I worked through the question and answer portion that followed that comment, and now we were on to what I do for a living.
“You don’t look like a mortician,” he said. I smiled the smile I smile every time I hear this observation.
Tim follows that up with, "Did you know a sheriff’s dispatcher sounds the same when calling a funeral home about a death call that he does calling a tow truck driver about a flat tire? Not everything is so sacred anymore. Death is a weird career choice.’"
I retort: "Well I wanted to be a trapeze artist, but ended up in a mortuary. And I have no regrets being a mortician; some of my greatest moments are those shared with the dead.’”
Tim tells me he was raised in a funeral home and sometimes he was sent downstairs to the basement to bring supper to dad. That would really freak him out to interrupt his father, hard at work repairing a body. He said that one time he walked in and a head was sitting on the table next to the body. He was still freaked over it.
His first job was helping dress the bodies with his older brother. They were just kids and all they could think about was if they’d hurry up, supper won’t be cold. Why did that room always remind him of supper, he asked me as he pondered over his Ruby Ale?