"The Right and Wrong Way to Deliver Funeral Arrangements" Or "The Day I Almost Got Rubbed Out"

Sit down children. I want to tell you a little story. A story that shows that even in times of great loss; there can be great laughter…well, for my sister and me anyhow.

Picture it: Sicily, 1932....no wait, that's another short Italian...

Oh yeah. Eastpointe, 1995....

My uncle got my sister and me a sweet (pun intended...cheap but it was there) gig delivering flowers on Sweetest Day. We were working for a big florist in the Detroit area (starts with a "V" and ends with an "iano"). It was easy, really...wearing a uniform of jeans, sweatshirts and work boots; we would pick up and drop off flowers all day long. We got to drive a gigantic white van with sketchy steering. If you wanted to change lanes, you had to twirl the wheel about 3 times...it was very entertaining; almost like the witch's wheel at Cedar Point.

Things were going great. We ate and drank and laughed, all punctuated with the joy of delivering flowers to sweethearts across the Metro Detroit Area. What girl could ask for a better day? AND...To top it all off, I had called in sick to my regular J.O.B. for this little sanity break. The day was all rainbows and flowers and Big Macs and Lattes.
UNTIL...we stopped back at the shop for our next delivery.  My uncle seemed a little harried...which is saying something because he's usually so laid back you'd think he was high on his "Macho Man"cologne. Anywho, there seemed to be a lack of drivers and there was an important delivery that had to go out to a funeral home. My sissy and I were standing off to the side out of the way of all the commotion when my uncle spotted us (apparently there's only so much big hair you can hide behind foliage).

"Hey, you two, Come 'ere. I wants you two to go take these flowers over to "Super Italian Name Funeral Home". (The name has been changed to protect the aunt and mother of my children)

Sounded reasonable...so we nodded our heads okay and started loading up the truck. We were given directions and no further instructions. Easy ,peasy chicken pleasey...no problemo...just another delivery by the professional drivers from "V's" florist.  On our 25 minute drive we talked and laughed and had no inkling of the foolishness to come.

When we pulled up to "Dearly Departed Guido's are Our Business" we kind of scoped things out. I parked the van in the front row, and we hopped out and grabbed a bunch of the arrangements. We knew this was a somber occasion and we put on our best "condolence" faces. We walked through the front doors and looked for the little sign that said "Old-as-Dirt Italian So and So in here". The parlor was to the left, so we headed in with arms full of flowers. We quietly went to the front, so as not to disturb the wailing mourners, and started arranging the flowers around the casket (which either held Yoda or someone's great grandma).

There were various pillars and stands, and Mary and I conscientiously placed each arrangement for the maximum effect; debating the merits of one stand over another. We made sure each one is a little slice of paradise in its own right. As we worked, I realized the strident wails have died down. It's right around now that my Spidey senses kicked in. Mary and I shared a look that said "do we turn around?" We cowgirl up and did to find all twenty-ish people in the room staring open mouthed at us. The "Wailer" (every good Italian funeral has one) on the couch has her hanky over her mouth and she's shaking her head in confusion looking at us and then back to "Grandma Yoda" and back to us, and I now knew that something is probably not right.

Because Mary and I have the uni-mind, we circumspectly put down any un-positioned flowers and begin to back slowly out of the room. We spied one of the relatives marching back toward the office. Now I was sure some thing's off. We turned and booked it to the door with the funeral director in hot pursuit. I jumped in the driver's seat and started to take off as Mary hopped in the passenger's seat. The big van lumbered out of the parking, lot mostly on two wheels, and I put the pedal to the metal and went from zero to 35 in ...well like 2 minutes honestly, but we made our not-so-clean get-away.

Yep...something was definitely wrong with the execution of that delivery. We drove all the way back to "Vs" (in the "no cell phone smaller than a Buick" era) and asked my uncle exactly where and how one delivers funeral floral arrangements.

It seems that there is a door AT THE BACK OF THE FUNERAL HOME where one drops off arrangements to the blooo-bi-dee-blah FUNERAL DIRECTOR!! Drivers do not, in fact, arrange flowers around the casket themselves; however conscientiously and enthusiastically they "undertake" this task.
In my minds eye, I see Grandma Yoda's family laughing about this in the years following; praising us for bringing levity to a difficult day. "Thank God for those girls", they say over cannolis and coffee. "If we could only find them thank them personally."
In truth, my sister and I were saved having to move out of state only because we know people. I have never gone back to "V's" Florist. I have, in fact, been back to "Bring Us Your Deadiano's" funeral home. I just kept my hanky over my face while crying softly, "mia culpa, mia culpa".