Negotiating with Terrorists
Death tends to bring out the worst in people. Mortuary workers have pretty much seen it all. We’ve heard the family arguments, and sometimes, have even had to separate people from each other. It happens. Before every interaction with a family, we tend to mentally prepare ourselves for a less than enjoyable experience. We understand, and we know that it is unrealistic to expect to receive the best versions of people during their lowest moments.
That being said, we’ve become able to get a glimpse of who you are at your best, through how you act, at your worst.
Jenna was a worrywart. I knew this because I’d been receiving weekly calls from her for months. As soon as her mother was transferred to home hospice care, she’d begun routinely calling to go over her mother’s prearrangements in painstaking detail.
I began to expect these calls, and as most funeral directors do, tried to roll with them as best I could.
Eventually, Jenna’s mom passed and it was time to make the arrangements. From the moment she made the appointment, to the time she sat down across from me at the table, nothing was right. It only got worse from there.
On the day of her mother’s viewing, nothing I could do would please her. The water I offered her was too cold. The casket we ordered wasn’t what her mother picked out. (It was). The stationery wasn’t thick enough for the programs. The seats in the chapel were uncomfortable.
Finally, she walked up to the casket to view her mother. She proceeded to take a tissue out of her purse, wet it with the water bottle she had in her hand, and started to WIPE THE MAKEUP OFF OF HER MOTHER’S FACE.
I felt like I was watching a movie. I saw the funeral assistant’s eyes widen, and I motioned for him to stand down. After what felt like hours, but was probably less than a minute, she turned to me and said, “She looks terrible. Look at her. This isn’t what I asked for.”
I’m not proud of what happened next.
“Perhaps that’s because you just wiped off her makeup with that Kleenex you’re holding.”
She didn’t seem shocked by what I’d just said.
"I’ll expect a full refund.” This, in turn didn’t surprise me.
“For what?” I asked her.
“We took her makeup off. This was shocking to see her like this. This is not what I paid for.”
I was reaching my breaking point. I could feel it.
"We didn’t accept any money from you, and we provided everything your mother planned for herself. I understand that looking at your mother this way is disturbing, but the fact remains that you took it upon yourself to remove her makeup. WE did not condone that. Clearly you need some time to process what you’re feeling. I’m going to give you some privacy."
I had only taken a few steps when I heard her speak again.
“So you’re not going to fix this?”
I didn’t even turn around before replying to her.
“No. No I’m not. Goodnight Jenna.”
I didn’t leave the mortuary, but I didn’t go back into the chapel. She filed a complaint the next day with the owner, and the owner ended up writing a check for a few hundred dollars to calm her down.
“You have to learn to pick your battles.”
I knew my boss was right, but I hated that. Giving her money felt like I was losing.
“It feels like we negotiated with a terrorist.” I said to her.
“Did you work for free yesterday? Or did you still get paid? Some people are just terrible, and you’re letting your pride get in your way. You’re not taking a loss here. Chill out. Let it go.”
I really didn’t like to let terrible people win, but I knew my boss wasn’t wrong.
“I’m still not apologizing to her.” I said.
“I’m not asking you to.”
I never saw that woman again. I wish I could say that I learned something from that experience that helped me become a more patient person, but I didn’t.
That lady sucked. All these years later, and that’s all I can remember about her.
You’re going to have your Jennas. You’re going to come across people that are just plain awful and their pain magnifies their terrible attitudes. Sometimes, you have to just take a deep breath, and remind yourself-
Chill bitch. You’re getting paid.
