Not a Typical Day at the Funeral Home

Prompt: Write a story which something doesn’t go according to plan.

Not A Typical Day at the Funeral Home

Ahh achoo! Ahh achoo! Achoo! The echoing sounds reverberated through the room. My head swiveled nearly one hundred eighty-degree as I heard a crashing sound. The casket turned on its side crashing to the floor emptying its contents. Mourners fled in one of two directions: either to the coffin or directly out the main door. I guess I was the only one who rushed forward to the lifeless body now seemingly alive.

“Holy crap! The corpse had a pulse!” I exclaimed.

To the few onlookers in the back of the room, I shouted “Call 911. This guy is still alive!”

Instantly, I heard the wailing of sirens. A hodgepodge of first responders poured in through the front door carrying all kinds of equipment including of all things the “jaws of life.” Maybe the thinking was someone had become gruesomely locked inside one of those airtight caskets.

An EMT shouted “His respirations are weak. His heart rhythm is erratic. Get me the paddles. Clear! No response. Shock him again. Clear! We finally have a normal rhythm.”

The beeping of the EKG machine was deafening. I heard a big thud. The EMT squad had lifted the body onto a gurney.

Another EMT yelled “we need to transfuse his blood. Most of it is embalming fluid and he won’t survive!”

A flurry of tubes, IV bags and flailing arms passed before my eyes. The corpse’s skin turned from a chalk white to a rosy, red color. Then “ahh achoo, ah achoo, achoo!” From the throng surrounding the body, someone blurted out “get me an epi pen.” A large hypodermic the size of a sausage was thrust into his chest. Apparently, it worked because I saw a normal rise and fall of his chest.

Suddenly, the man sat upright on the gurney. “Where am I? What the hell happened to me? Why is my shirt torn open and who are all you people?”

There was dead silence that seemed to last for hours. Finally, I had enough gumption to speak up. “Mr. Dozer, you are at a funeral. It just so happens to be your funeral. Everyone from the doctors to the mortician thought you were gone; perpetually asleep, passed on, dead as a door nail.”

Mr. Dozer harshly spoke, “Well you can plainly see I am not!”

An EMT said, “Mr. Dozer we need to get you to the hospital to get you checked out.”

“Not in my lifetime will I go back to that hospital,” Mr. Dozer said. “And who ordered lilies? I am deadly allergic to them.” I could hear a few snickers in the background. I had to smile myself at Mr. Dozer’s candor.

There was more chatter from the emergency squad. A woman who left the funeral had feinted just outside the door. The squad stampeded outside to administer aid to the woman. I heard shouting.

“She’s not breathing! Give her CPR.I have no pulse. Get me the paddles.” I could again hear the hum of the defibrillator machine powering up from the entry way.

Meanwhile, Mr. Dozer had climbed off the gurney. He was dressing himself when he slumped to the ground again. I shouted “Medic! I need a medic in here! Man down, again.”

Chaos was rampart both in the room and entryway. Mr. Dozer was turning blue.

The EMT in charge said, “Get the oxygen from the ambulance. I think his airway is obstructed. His right lung is filling up with fluid. He has a pneumothorax. I need to aspirate his lung now!”

Hysterical movement centered around the sprawled body near the overturned coffin.

The EMT opened up Mr. Dozer’s shirt again, and she deftly inserted a large hypodermic needle between his lower ribs. I watched as yellowish liquid was extracted from the unconsciousness Mr. Dozer.

By the entranceway another EMT had stabilized the women who now was sitting upright on the steps to the funeral home. Her labored breathing was being addressed with a cylinder of oxygen as well.

Mr. Dozer gasped and started breathing again. His color returned to a pinkish hue. This time he remained in a prone position on the floor. More and more people gathered even those that were not at the original viewing before the hiatus began.

If things could not get worse, the Fire Marshall arrived. He had a look of deep concern.

“I am ordering everyone off the premises. Please evacuate calmly. A call came into the station that someone had smelled gas. We need to investigate immediately.

Mr. Dozer’s body thudded once more onto the gurney. He complained, “My side aches so much.”

The EMT shouted “His tubing has come out! We need to get him out of here ASAP!”

The spectators cleared a pathway for the gurney, and he quickly was stuffed into the waiting ambulance. The woman who had collapsed was likewise stuffed into the other ambulance.

There was some shoving and pushing as the people exited the funeral home. I decided to wait my turn. Then there was the sound of an overturned chair coming from the back office. Peering into the room I saw the funeral director still sitting in the overturned chair.

Exhaustedly I asked him, “Are you okay Mr. Everpeace? Do you need help getting yourself up from the chair?”

“Yes. I could use your assistance. This has not been a typical day for my funeral parlor.”

I extended my hand to grab his hand and arm. As I lifted him up, I heard a crunching sound coming from my back.

“Oh, man. I think I pulled something in my back.” Mr. Everpeace concurred as well saying, “My back is a roaring mess too.” Together we hobbled our way past the Fire Marshall and left the building.

Mr. Everpeace then said, “Today was not a good day for me. No funeral means no money. In fact, I now have to shell out for a new coffin, new chairs, new fixtures, and new carpet. Dozer never prepaid for his funeral.”

“Well, at least Mr. Dozer and the old lady had a great day and are alive to talk about it. One could say it was like Jesus raising Lazarus out of the grave. Well, sort of. At, least Mr. Dozer was embalmed unlike Lazarus.

Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of him who was dead, said to Him, “Lord, by this time there is a stench, for he has been dead four days.”

Now when He had said these things, He cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come forth!” And he who had died came out bound hand and foot with graveclothes, and his face was wrapped with a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Loose him, and let him go.” (John 11: 43-44, NKJV)

-END-

NKJV=New King James Version (Tysdale Publishing)

Author: Peter Gautchier

Acknowledgement: Reedsyprompts.com