Dude, I Could Never Do That Job!

This story contains graphic descriptions of corpses in various states. Not being a total pussy is advised. Read it.

I thought it about time I mentioned my loony job. The short version: I pick up dead bodies. I know what you’re saying, “Dude! The chicks must throw themselves at you!” Oddly enough, still no. But I do have stories I can tell for the rest of my life and I’ve seen things other people couldn’t imagine. You want to know what happens to a person on a dirt bike who gets into a head on collision with a Toyota Corolla on highway 59 in the middle of the night? Ask me. You want to know what a person looks and smells like who has been face down dead in their apartment for a month and a half. Ask me. I’ve picked up people with bullet holes and stab wounds. I’ve used my handy dandy pocket knife to cut down people who have hanged themselves and taken people who have painted their apartments with the blood spraying from their wrists and not been found for a week.
It’s not all excitement and gore though. It’s also old people. Many, many old people from many disgusting and depressing old folks homes. So many old people die that I’d have to say that it must be true that old people can’t get enough of death. They love it. About 75% of the people we pick up are as old as dirt and many times smellier. FYI: don’t take your family members to live at the Maples Personal Care Home. Unless of course they enjoy the scent of urine. I’d also like to know why so many Philippinos work at old folks homes? It’s like nose candy to them. They love it. Either that or they’re being kidnapped and forced to work in these places. Unfortunately for them I don’t care that much either way. Good luck though.
Palliative care home deaths are the worst though. One time we went to pick up from a house of Sikhs. The whole family was there. About forty people sobbing loudly in the living room and a scary ass chant playing on a small electronic box. I was trying to get the hell out of there as fast as possible and not do anything to make myself look like an asshole. It’s not that often we see people that upset. Now compare that to the weirdos in East Kildonan we met. We got there and were joyfully invited to, “c’mon in!” The daughter of the decedent patted her mother on the hands and told me that we should be gentle with her as she would tell on us if we hurt her. WTF you say? Yeah, so do I.

If I thought long enough I could write all night but I’m too damn lazy for that. In conclusion, dead people are a strange bunch. At least they don’t complain too much.