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Well I finally talked Other Bill into going to a free lunch
sponsored by the Neptune Society, those guys who have been promoting cheap
cremations for the last few decades. All I wanted them to do is tell me how
much it ran to toast a dead body, but apparently you can’t be privy to that
information unless you set up a visit with a counselor or attend one of these
lunch things that are advertised in the paper.
Other Bill never wanted to deal with this. In fact, I had to
twist his arm years ago to agree to getting our wills written. He likes to joke
about wanting us to die together in a plane crash so no one will find our
bodies, or just having wicks inserted in our heads so when one of us stops
breathing, all the other has to do is light a match. But reluctantly he went
along this time.
I’ve had a long-standing beef with the whole funeral home
industry for years which I have previously documented here. Now that funeral
homes and cemeteries have gone hi-tech, there is no end to the number of gizmos
and gimmicks they will try to get you to sign up for. No one is going to be
able to walk up to my final resting place and through the miracle of wifi and
global positioning, see my professionally produced (at a huge fee) videography,
because my crispy remains will be in some unknown place or at the bottom of
some body of water, probably illegally. They won’t be on anyone’s mantle,
either.
My feeling on the afterlife is pretty cut and dry; i.e.,
you’re dead. So why set aside an obscene amount of money for a satin-lined
Posturepedic coffin to lie back and rot in? Your spirit, your love, your sense
of humor, all the things that people will remember you for are also gone. All
that’s left is your decaying vessel, so let’s deal with that as quickly and
cleanly as possible and call it a day, shall we?
So we get to this tv-lined sports bar and go to the special
event room, where a young Peruvian lesbian greeted us and gave us some
paperwork (which didn’t have the cremation price on it). In a few minutes three
more men, all older than us, sauntered in. Two of them, who clearly were in
their 80’s (and probably not planning on living much longer), started hitting
on her. Telling her what a beautiful woman she was. Asking if she was single. She
handled it with grace and dignity, because not doing so could easily have cost her
a sale. But c’mon, guys. Okay, so it’s not always easy to zero in on a person’s
sexual orientation; I’ll give you that. But what did you think your chances
were, being a half-century her senior, that after your death discussion that
she’d go home, pack a bag and move in with you? 50-50? Not even close. So cut
that shit out, for God’s sake. It’s 2016, not the year YOU were born.
One guy in particular was a pain in the ass from the get-go.
Besides practically wolf-whistling and making goo-goo eyes at the presenter, he
also, instead of sitting at the table set out for him, imposed himself on a
kindly French gentleman, who, I suspect, would have rather sat alone.
The guy also gave the waitress a hard time. He wanted a full
sandwich and a salad, when the menu option was for just half a sandwich and a
salad. The waitress said he could add a salad to his full sandwich for three
dollars, but then he played stupid, giving her the “I don’t understand why he
gets a sandwich and salad and I have to pay $3 for mine” routine.
Then before the knockout lesbian could barely open the
presentation, he started going on and on about how he wasn’t planning on dying,
because he was happy just as he was alive.
If there had been a buttered roll on my table, I would have thrown it at
him.
So the presentation went along well enough and was
moderately interactive, with other Bill and I being the only other two in the
room to verbally participate.
The presenter talked about how funeral homes will always try
to “upsell you” by preying on your emotional state and talking you into things
you don’t need, like a pricier casket or other extras they say your loved one
would have wanted. This led to a discussion about pre-planning and making your
needs known.
But the thing about the Neptune Society is, there is a base
price (and I won’t tell you want it is. Go to your own old man lunch) that
requires you to die within a 75 mile radius of your local Neptune Society
crematorium. After that, it’s three dollars a mile, just like the $3 side salad
that the waitress gave that old fart for free because she was sick of the
harassment.
Three dollars a mile. Who knew that dying was like renting a
car?
Okay, so we got it. In order for it to be effective, you had
to really sign up with the premium account that was $500 more, and then you
could die anywhere you wanted to, without incurring any mileage surcharges.
But what really frosted my fine hairs was that both packages
came with a “beautiful cherry box” that held a commemorative picture frame and
an urn to put your loved one’s ashes in.
If that’s not upselling, I don’t know what is. Before I
could ask if it was cheaper to buy it without the made-in-China box and cheesy
frame, she said it was all part of the complete package and could not be
excluded from the deal.
So then they gave us the price of both versions. The
annoying man who wasn’t planning on dying just got up, tossed his napkin on the
table, and walked out of the room. His French table partner rolled his eyes,
and I gave him a sympathetic look.
The patient presenter chatted with us for a few minutes, and
acknowledged that we were a couple even though we didn’t use the secret gay
handshake. We said we wanted time to discuss it, even though, for me at least,
once she uttered the word, “urn” all bets were off.
One of the hooks to the program was how easy this would make
things for your children. At the time of your death all they would have to do
is remove your membership card from your wallet, call the toll-free number, and
everything would be taken care of. No fuss, no muss. Our presenter said, “What
would you rather give them: The card or the phone book so they could start
calling funeral homes during their beginning stages of grief?”
I don’t think we’ll need either the card or the phone book.
All we’ll need is Google. You can get a non-Neptune direct cremation for around
$500.
We’ll use the savings to pay for a full sandwich and a full
salad. And dessert, please.
Photo Via Flickr User
Justin Dolske
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