American Dreams
People are obsessed with death these days. What’s really funny is that we have begun to plan for our own deaths. It costs a lot and we feel kind of bad stiffing family with the bill, so we’re encouraged to choose a funeral home, a casket, a cemetery and maybe even a eulogist. All before the first cough.
I’ve heard this new trend where some people even hold a funeral while they are alive, so they can listen to all the nice things people have to say about them. Wow. And somehow obesity takes center stage over vanity in our country’s growing list of problems to fight?
Death is becoming as fashionable as summer footwear or Persian rugs. And, cemeteries are so 1990’s. If being “six feet under” is the baggy Levis of decease chambers, then mausoleums are the skinny jeans. These Netherworld Chest of drawers are the hottest thing since cremated ashes. And they are so popular that you have to book your spot twenty years in advance. It’s sick really. A family member dies, we put them in a drawer and the very next week the rest of the family is buying their drawers for the future. People are obsessing so much about their deaths that they are willing to make monthly payments for these indoor burial chambers. Some people, conceivably, might be renting a house and owning a mausoleum drawer at the same time. Goofy.
“I should be next to Mom. I’m the oldest!”
“Let’s get two next to the Robinsons. But don’t put me next to Bill, I have to be next to Martha.”
“Should we wait for St. Thomas to open by the pond, or just get a spot at St. John’s now with your brother’s family?”
Where will it end? Pretty soon a grandma will die, the mother will want to be laid in the drawer below her and start thinking her kids should have the adjacent drawers for when she passes. You know, keep the family together. Problem is, her kids are 8, 6 and 3. Or we’ll start buying a newborn crib and a mausoleum drawer in the very same year. “Here’s your college fund that you can’t touch until your 18, son. Oh, what’s that other 50 grand? That’s for the next life.”
To be honest, I foresee a new profession in the making. Mortgage brokers (strung out from the bubble burst) need to open their eyes to this opportunity. If they’re having trouble placing living people in houses, start a real estate agency that places dead people in drawers.
I won’t be surprised if next time I go visit my Grandma, I find a Re/Max (or Cre/Max) representative ready to finance the afterlife home of my dreams. I see a slicked back, pinstripe-wearing salesman approaching a newlywed couple: “Have you thought of having kids in the future? Have you thought of where those kids will visit you when you die?” Yikes.
Brokers selling, leasing, and renting out afterlife space.
“Just give me a few years,” the encouraging salesman would offer, “and I’ll be able to move your entire family to row 5. Right next to the front door!”
“I do have a nice chamber on the West Wing, third row. It’s on a corner, which is nice, and you’ll be within 12 spots of Lex Wexner so you’ll get a lot of foot traffic.”
Not me. I’m afraid to sign up too early. What if you to subscribe to this wave and things change? Let’s say the trend shifts again and gravestones are back, much like how bellbottoms come back every 30 years? Or, cryogenic freezing is all the rage next decade, and you are the only sorry schmoe still stuck in a drawer. “Did you hear about Anthony and Anna Maria? Their poor kids are going to have to leave the house to pay their respects. Imagine the horror!” Or, maybe you buy a deathbed next to your best friend who turns out to stab you in the back ten years later and you’re eternally stuck with them?
Nah, I think we’re better off finding the right neighborhood to live in while we’re still alive. School districts, tax breaks, and shopping mall proximities are stressful enough. Besides, I still haven’t finished the basement.
What’s your take on this? Should we listen to Tim and “live like we were dying?”
