12th December 2012

Today was the funeral


I didn't want to go. I had only slept for less than three hours, and I really wasn't in the mood to see all those ugly faces. But I went anyway.
Once through the door, I realised that it was quite
day for a funeral
. Just perfect, in fact. The air was clear, and it was quite cold. Minus 8 degrees Celsius, to be precise. The ground was completely frozen, which was so very fitting. Though I was probably the only person to appreciate the parallel.
I went there about 45 minutes before the "show" officially started. And what a show this turned out to be, indeed. (But more on that later).
First I took a nice
stroll across the graveyard
to enjoy the general
to have a look at the grave prior to the service
. When I saw the hole in the ground, I just couldn't help searching my bag and pockets for something "interesting" (ahem) to place down there at the bottom of it, fiendishly
that, when the carrier of the urn was going to kneel down to do his duty, he would see it, burst with laughter and, chuckling helplessly, he would drop his precious cargo ... which would then roll all across the icy ground, with people chasing after it in the vain attempt to stop it, followed by lots of general slipping, sliding and eventually all would collapse in perfect slapstick manner to a huge pile of ugly people, and there would be swearing and chaos and confusion  and... well ...
lots of FUN
. (For
, anyway).
The local mortician was already there. He had just finished doing the decorations, and was now busy making photos for his album.
When he saw me entering (grinning from ear to ear), he packed away his camera, came over, smiled ... and shook my hand, his firm grip almost squashing my icy fingers.
He is also a carpenter, you see. Such a manly profession
. Anyway, he then apologised for having to leave immediately, but apparently there was some other 'job' waiting for him, so I was left alone...
...and took a few photos myself...
But ...
... I had left all the really
stuff at home.
where there's a WILL, there is a way!
So I simply tore a sheet of paper from my notebook, took a black magic marker, drew a
big, fat
on it, and mischievously lowered the message (face up) to its final resting place.
Then I headed toward the chapel...
...where, as usual,
I snuck in through the backdoor
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The actual service was ...
, I suppose. Considering that the deceased was such a secretive man, and that therefore his 'known' life could be summarised in a single sentence only, the pastor (a different one this time, a woman) miraculously managed to bridge the gap rather successfully, by quoting the bible and ... wait for it ...
Udo Lindenberg
I mean, it was OK and fitting in a way. But when she said "
to this I am going to add a quote from a more recent source
", and then continued
hinter'm Horizont...
, it caused the wicked comedy-side of my brain (already bored beyond belief) to instantly complete the line in one really annoying cartoon performance, which made it even more difficult to sit still.
I earlier mentioned that the entire event was a bit of a show, which it was. At least to a certain degree, by certain people. But thinking about it now, I better not share that here. Let's just say,
I know a fake mourner
when I see one
, and to watch that person turn a
simple headcold
into a honking concert of pretended sobbing is just ... - well, it was a bit much to bear.
Anyway, the third and final piece of music was played eventually (something in 6/4, which made me sway and smile, and in doing so I probably helped to 'case-harden' my already bad enough
reputation), and the urn was carried off toward the grave...
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Believe it or not, but by then I had already half forgotten about my ... umm ...
previous arrangements
, but luckily the mere sight of the urn-carrier approaching the hole (he was one of the graveyard gardeners, who had also worked on my mother's funeral) triggered my memory. ;)
So, there he was ... getting closer to the grave ... the urn in his hands ... slowly kneeling down ... gazing down the hole ...
oh, the tension, the suspense, the excitement
... and then ... - NOTHING. The urn went down, he got up, saluted and stepped away from the grave!
The comedy-side of my brain felt utterly cheated... (
*fuck, fuck, fuck*
) ...and only cheered up again, when, after everything was finished, the pastor (with badly applied red lipstick) noticably
before eventually shaking my hand, with that familiar look of "
satanic panic
" on her face.
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I waited until everyone had left and then made a few more photos. On my way home I walked past the chapel, where the urn-carrier was clearing away the wreaths and bouquets, getting the place ready for the second service of the day.
I must have made some sort of noise, because he suddenly raised his head, squinted his eyes and gave me this long, hard (and knowing!) look that quite unmistakably meant:

"You stupid, little asshole!"

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Haha ... I guess, today wasn't
wasted then after all. ;)
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