Post by OBMIF on Nov 21, 2003 4:53:34 GMT -5
The name’s Wes Miller. I video tape things.
Mostly weddings, parties and various social events.
I drop my business cards at tux rental shops, bridal
boutiques and party supply stores. The customers
contact me by phone to make the arrangements.
It’s a pretty easy job if you’re patient and your
hands are steady. You meet a lot of people in a good
mood and there’s usually free food. I’m no artist,
but I manage to keep everything in focus most of
the time.
One day I got a call from a guy named Olsen. He said
he wanted me to tape something for him. He wouldn’t
say what it was, though. He said he wanted to meet
with me in person before finalizing anything.
So that afternoon I waited at a corner table at
Stumpy’s Grill. I’d been there for about five minutes
when an older gentleman who walked with a cane
sat down across from me and introduced himself as
Fred Olsen. Not one for mystery, I cut to the chase.
"Let's get something straight." I began. "I don’t
know what you have in mind, but you should know
up front that I don’t do any surveillance video.
No keyhole jobs or spy stuff. No porno, either.
I’m strictly legit."
"I appreciate that." Olsen said, smiling politely.
"No, what I want you to do is perfectly legal.
You see, I want you to video tape my funeral."
In the following moment of silence I gave my
potential client the once over. He was a rather
slim man who appeared to be in his late fifties.
Mostly gray hair, a few wrinkles, but nothing that
suggested the image of a dying man.
"Really?" I replied. "I might not be in the business
that long."
"That’s nice of you to say. The fact is, I feel fine.
But my doctor and several others have shown me
a picture of the future... and I’m not in it.
They’ve assured me that within four months I’ll be
deader than Elvis."
"Don’t you hate all that medical jargon? Look, you
don’t mind if I ask for the money up front, do you?"
"I can’t even pronounce the name of the damn thing
I’ve got! They say there’s something wrong with
my blood. I’ll just keep getting weaker and weaker.
Eventually, I’ll just fall asleep." He gazed out the
window at clown across the street who was handing out
coupons for a car wash. "Perchance to dream."
"That's from Macbeth, isn’t it?"
"No."
I named my price and he wrote out a check for the
full amount. He handed it to me along with a card
that had the address of the funeral parlor on it.
"This is why I wanted to meet you in person.
I wanted to look you over. I’m sure you’ll do a
good job. My attorney, will contact you when the
time comes. You’ll have three days notice before
the ceremony."
With that, he shook my hand and left.
Later that night, while I was at home editing a
proctologist's retirement party, I couldn’t help
thinking about the Olsen job. Questions hovered
around my head like fireflies. But I soon resigned
myself to the fact that I’d find out everything when
I got the call.
I got the call. It was four months to the day after
our meeting. Seth Bainbridge, Olsen’s attorney,
gave me the date and the time of the ceremony,
but that’s all he would tell me.
Whispering Thicket Funeral Parlor was an interesting
choice. I showed up an hour early to check the
place out. The owner, a lady named Gertrude Pixie,
happily showed me around. She was a big woman,
neither tall nor fat, but she had shoulders like
a varsity fullback. She was at least twenty years
my elder, but that didn’t stop her from flirting
throughout the tour. She proudly informed me that
Whispering Thicket was the only parlor in town
specializing in theme funerals. There were eight
display rooms and each had a personality all its own.
There was Little Egypt, a room decorated with
plastic cobras and paintings of sand dunes on
the walls. The chairs formed a pyramid shape that
pointed towards a replica of King Tut’s casket.
Then there was The Love-In, a psychedelic fantasy
of flowers and peace symbols with a day-glo coffin
surrounded by bean bag chairs.
After visiting the Viva Las Vegas room, which I
won't even try to describe, I told Miss Pixie that
I’d seen enough and wanted to set up my equipment.
She lead me to the room where Fred Olsen was lying
in state.
Fred had picked the only conventional room in the
whole place. There was oak paneling, a black and
white tiled floor, red velvet curtains that were
opened to allow in sunlight and a simple arrangement
of white roses in front of a silver casket.
I set up my tripod, put a fresh tape in the camera,
then checked my watch. It was only one minute
before the ceremony and no one had shown up yet.
That’s when I noticed something odd. There weren't
any chairs. I moment after I'd started taping
a minister entered followed by a young bucktoothed
woman carrying a cassette deck and a microphone.
The minister, a chubby red-haired gentleman who’s
collar seemed to be choking him, took a piece of
paper from his pocket and began to speak.
"We’re here to bid farewell to Frederick Swenson,
a man who- oh, I’m sorry! I said Swenson, didn’t I?
I meant Olsen! I always get those names mixed up!
Should we go for another take?" he asked, looking
at me.
"Oh... okay." I said. "Let’s take it from the top.
And one... and two... and..."
"We’re here today to bid farewell to Frederick Olsen,
a man who, in the prime of life..."
It was a short, simple eulogy. When it was over
the woman stepped forward, pushed a button on the
cassette player and proceeded to lip sync to
a recording of "Love Will Keep Us Together" by
The Captain and Tennille, which I can only assume
was Fred’s favorite song. When the music ended
the minister and the young woman quietly left
the room. A moment later I realized that the
ceremony was over, so I pushed the fade button.
As I was packing up my equipment, a man carrying a
briefcase approached me.
"You must be Wes Miller. I’m Seth Bainbridge,
Mr. Olsen's attorney. How did everything go?"
"Pretty smooth."
"Good. I'd like to order some copies."
"Sure, that's ten bucks a piece."
"Sounds reasonable." he said, opening his briefcase
and taking out a checkbook. "Provisions were left
for such things." Bainbridge wrote out a one-hundred
and forty dollar check and handed it to me.
"Can you run off fourteen copies by Monday?"
"Yeah."
"Fine. I’ll arrange to pick them up then."
Bainbridge turned to walk away.
"Wait a minute." I said. "Who are these all these
copies for?"
"Oh. Well, Mr. Olsen’s family are very busy people."
he explained. "His widow is in the middle of a
legal battle with her second husband back east,
his son is attending an important shareholders
meeting this afternoon, the twins are doing a big
commercial shoot for sun tan lotion and I believe
his brother is undergoing cosmetic surgery.
Everybody’s schedule is completely booked!
But, by taping it, they’ll all be able to enjoy the
funeral at their own convenience. Isn’t that nice?"
"Yeah, I guess it’s kind of comforting." I said
as I watched someone take the flowers away.
"Do you want these on VHS or DVD?"
The End