The Impatient Stone Cutter

Many, many years ago I met a salesman that could sell a bowl of sawdust to a Dog on a meat wagon. He was selling Tombstones, prepaid granite, stand alone marble facade tombstones for a very cheap price. How did I know the price was cheap, because I could afford it and I was cheap.

Since my military service was behind me and I was a level headed Irish/American, I qualified for a special discount which I took. I declined the prepaid plot in Happy Valley Bone Orchard because I didn't have a clue where I'd be and who I wished to reside next to in the 100 years between purchase and use.

So the salesman drew up the contract, took the payment and gave me the gold embossed certificate declaring I had one prepaid tombstone coming. He then took his hefty commission, passed on the contract and remaining funds to the stone cutter who took half of the funds and put it in his pocket and bought an annuity to cover the tombstone with the remaining funds.

Forty five years passed like smoke through a key hole. Credit to Jack Nicholson; the 'Bucket List'. The stone cutter was dead and the salesman was dead but I was alive, barely. I'd somehow hung onto that certificate through all the moves and downsizing and moving on and off boats and misplaced items. And then one day, out of the blue I got a call from a Morturial Registration Board reminding me of my ownership.

The current Mortuary that held the guarantee of perpetual remembrance wanted to dispose of their obligation so they could liquidate their assets. My tombstone was a liability and in need of address. If I had been drinking like I was when I bought it, I'd have found that hysterical but I was sober and curious to find out what they proposed.

“We thought the original price plus, say ah, 20% would be fair,” the disembodied voice on the phone said.

It's been a long time since I learned fractions at St. Brendans Grade School, where I excelled at looking out the window, so I knew for almost certain that 20% of the one hundred dollar purchase price was $20. I laughed. Sure an unexpected windfall is always welcome when you're on a fixed income but I declined. He bristled as he upped the bid and it took a while for him to reach $200, a more reasonable figure.

“I don't want your money, send me the tombstone. I'll send you the copy and you leave out the final date.”

“What are you going to do with a undated tombstone?”

“Lawn ornament...”


This blog/column is meant for educational purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All images are merely for humor and not meant to comment on subject. Void where prohibited. Some assembly required. Do not read while operating a vehicle or heavy machinery. Keep sending those great questions and comments! (Contact) boatguied@aol.com 



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