The Big City Morgue

The Big City

Part 24 of 28

Can you imagine working at the Big City morgue? I can only imagine. You never run into anyone who works there, and never anyone who's been there, so obviously it's hush-hush. Meaning, unless I get a job there, if ever, I’ll can only imagine the craziness, the intrigue it must be. And probably if you tell anyone what it's all about, that's the end of you! You've gone from lab to slab just like that...

But common sense tells us that you’d have new arrivals all the time at the Big City morgue. With enough attendants to keep up with the constant flow, of course. The attendants will occasionally get a newbie attendant and they’re always amused to see the looks on his or her face when the fatalities start piling up around them. To the point, of course, occasionally, where they try to make it look worse than it is, just to keep the newbie on h/h toes. Like on Star Trek, “We can’t take much more of this!” They make it sound like the whole thing’s gonna blow and there'll be body parts strewn everywhere.

I have some idea of what harried Big City morgue employees must go through. Not based on ever having been at the morgue, but from my employment at a fast food pizza joint once and trying to keep up not only with pizzas coming out of the oven but delivering them. I was there a little over a week and it could’ve been the death of me. My funkiest delivery was to the city limits and a guy on a motorcycle waiting there. That went well enough, he had exact change. My most disappointing delivery -- and there were several -- was to a guy in the shower. “I told them to tell you I’d be in the shower and leave the pizza on the table.” Naturally they didn’t tell me any such thing, so how was I to know to walk in and put it on the table? That guy got a free pizza. I’ve tried that a few times myself over the years and the pizza place hasn’t been as understanding.

It would’ve been a good thing, really, if I'd gone into the morgue business, started out on the ground floor, learned about corpses, where to tickle them to see if they’re really dead, etc. By now, with my aptitude -- unmatched -- I could’ve owned a whole fleet off morgues and set up my own rules. A sign on the door, “I’m in the shower. If you’re here with a body, put it on the table.” Then I come out and see a dozen bodies stacked against the wall, strewn about on the sidewalk out front, etc., and think I need to call someone, but I’m the responsible party. Get out there and clean up the sidewalk before that stiff contaminates the whole earth! We only have one planet! (Of course, once they’ve been thoroughly processed with formaldehyed they’re kosher.)

But before you can own a chain of morgues you have to gain experience at the actual task. I actually might have enough experience. A great number of my own family have gone on to their reward. In fact, every single relative I’ve ever had that was born before the 1930s is dead, which ranges in the hundreds, thousands, and even millions. If I have that kind of experience going so far back, imagine what I could contribute today. Get that on my resume and I might take the Big City morgue system by storm. There's been so much death in my family there’s nothing about it I don’t know.

Terrible Trouble! The Barber and Pizza Place

I saw the basics of this incident with my own two eyes. But I didn't really know it was in process till I'd noticed the guy walk by three times. I was sitting on a bench uptown. By the third time the guy walked by me I looked up from my phone and started paying attention. Then I was able to piece together the previous three trips in the context of the incident.*

The guy is a guy about town, someone that if you live here you see all the time. He doesn't seem to have a ton of friends -- never a companion -- but everyone, especially businessmen, know him. He's uptown a lot, and must check in a lot with merchants. This time he was going back and forth between the pizza place and the barber shop.

He started out at the barber shop and went to get a pizza for the barber, which he delivered. But there was some problem, so he went back to the pizza place with a dollar, then back to the barber. Soon he returned to the pizza place to get a handful of napkins, then to the barber. Then he returned to the pizza place for a little container of cheese, then back. Then he returned to the pizza place for some red peppers, then back.

By now, with yet another trip, the pizza place thought maybe there was a problem. He explained that the barber was certain the pizza was supposed to have been $7, but it turned out to be $8. The extra trips back were the barber's way of recouping his dollar.

So the pizza man sent him back to the barber with a message, that the pizza was indeed $8, not $7, because extra cheese is a dollar more. The barber sent him back with a message that he hadn't asked for extra cheese, the usual amount of cheese being all he wanted. The pizza man sent back a message that naturally he wouldn't have known that. He put one little knife in the barber's back: People rarely go to the barber, and then it's always the same ones. If the barber remembers what his customers want, that's no surprise. But so many people go the pizza place, many different ones, one order's the same as any other.

Obviously this kind of nasty comment didn't sit well with the barber. Especially since their commerce is only one way, the barber ordering pizzas but the pizza guy never getting a haircut. (I'm sure I would've have a hard time holding my tongue, too.) He sent the guy back to the pizza place with a message: "Your pizza sucks anyway, whether it's $7 or $8." The pizza guy sent him back with a message in return: "Why do you think I never come in for a haircut? The looks of your haircuts aren't the greatest." Their go-between man was Exhibit A, whose head and whole manner look totally bad; he's just a guy with bad hair.

It escalated from there. The barber complained that the pizzas were often dry like cardboard, and in addition, the occasional sandwiches he'd ordered were tasteless and skimpy on meat and hefty on lettuce. The pizza guy sent a message back that haircuts in general are very boring, and that this particular barber's haircuts were the most boring. Plus, and here he was unfair, the barber's toilet paper budget must be through the roof, just to patch up nicks from shoddy shaving practices.

By now the guy had gone back and forth -- I lost track -- maybe 18-20 times. As an emissary delivering messages, he did a fine job. But in my opinion it would've be more helpful to smooth out some of the rough edges of the messages they entrusted to him.

Finally, the pizza guy thought, "The barber actually is a pretty good customer. And we've been here all these years, on friendly terms." The barber, to his credit, also thought it over, "If I don't fix this, I won't be able to order pizzas again, which means I'll either starve or have to order from someone farther away."

The barber sent the guy back to the pizza guy with a friendly word, then to smile and ask about the extra cheese thing. But before asking about the cheese, the guy admitted ordering extra cheese, not to cause trouble, but that's the way he personally orders pizza, so it had slipped his mind, causing the extra dollar charge for the barber.

Of course there's a happy ending, as seen in the picture. The pizza guy kicked the guy out once and for all, then made up with the barber, returning his dollar, who immediately went to the register and gave the pizza guy 50 cents. They both agreed that they had been good neighbors far too long to let this guy screw them up now.

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* An interesting moment for me, when I go from basic ignorance to omniscience

The Rest Is Inconsequential History

ABSTRACT: I survey the history of the American presidency and a bunch of things I happen to do. The rest is inconsequential history.

George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, two of our greatest presidents, ones I have no problem remembering, indisputably made history. If they fell out of bed, it was a big deal. Especially because they spent so little time sleeping, having wars and the affairs of state to keep them awake. Their influence remains today, as they are the ones I think of first when I think of historical figures. They dwell in my consciousness, up there in my natural cloud (no Amazon or Apple needed!).

What could I say to summarize the influence of these great men? Really, time and full intelligence would fail me, were I to try. So let me just start by saying, "Two thumbs up!" on their presidencies, and, in fact, on their lives period.

Of course President Washington was our first president, which had to be a great honor. He must have been struttin' and trash talkin' all the time: "They can't compare me to nobody!" and "Suck on this, you muthas!" President Lincoln came later in the distinguished line of American chief executives, according to the encyclopedia being the 16th man to hold the highest office. No, it's not as good as Number One, naturally, but you could say "Sweet 16" ain't bad! Not bad indeed, and in some states, still legal.

So let's hear it for Washington and Lincoln! Two great guys, even though it's not February. A grateful nation doesn't forget. What they did, they did. Whether it was in battle. Washington took out the English. Lincoln took out half of America. Or in their personal lives. Washington cut down cherry trees. Lincoln split rails. Their portraits remain with us, which is how we picture them yet today: Washington standing up in a boat, Lincoln staring down the cameraman. I love it that we have actual photos of Lincoln. But back in Washington's time, no one was yet smart enough to invent the camera. Which to us today seems real duh. My brother can make a camera out of a box and a pin! True story!

OK, I'm mentioning these great men today -- Number 1 and Sweet 16 -- to put myself in their company, the company of those who make history. The biggest difference between them and me is they chose to make history hundreds of years ago, and I choose to make it now. Which I'll leave to you to judge: Their history is so long ago we're dealing in hearsay and cliches. My history is up to date, something any objective observer can currently evaluate. Personally, I think my choice is best; certainly it lends itself to greater transparency; I'm not hiding out somewhere in the obscure past, I take my stand today!

About my own history, given enough time and bandwidth, I could go on and on. Like my list of teachers. I could give you a list of most of my teachers. A list you're not likely to come up on your own, because how would you know? It's not in the encyclopedias! Or the way my preferences in life developed. It's funny, the way things go. We used to eat a bunch of wild game that Grandpa hunted. Squirrels, rabbits, coon, pheasants, turtle, possums, etc. And we didn't think anything about it. Then, sometime, suddenly, when I grew up, I decided I'd only eat store-bought food. I'm not even that much of a proponent of hunting these days. But against those who do hunt, I hold no grievance. Old fashioned people hunt, the rest of us buy. See all the history right there?

I'm making history everyday. Here's one big reason: I carry a camera, a built-in feature of my phone. Can you believe it? A camera right in my phone! I can order a pizza one minute and take a picture of it the next! Try that with an Instamatic! Here's the history: My pictures capture a moment in time, i.e., history. I like to take pictures of old windmills and the broad sides of barns. Someday when we get our wind from other sources and all the barns have been burnt down for firewood, my pictures will preserve a bygone era. Like Ansel Adams, they'll be on calendars and coffee cups.

I'm making history right now, just by passing on my memories and knowledge to the world. I can see this blog as a primary resource for researchers someday. They'll be like, "Whoa! This is some good shit!" The researchers will be in little cubicles reading it, one of them starting at the most recent stuff and the other starting at the oldest. Eventually, they'll meet in the middle, like the great Americans who drove the Golden Spike. And they'll shake hands and thank their lucky stars for me. Then they'll go out for drinks and laughs before getting up the next day and doing it all again.

History ... it's a gas. I'm signing off for today ... although history may reveal that I came back.