This is a truish story, names changed to confuse the innocent. Because of Jame’s storytelling yesterday, I decided to share my most recent lore…
A famous author died in Springdale a few days ago. He was well known for his sense of humor and dry wit. At my recommendation, his family went to a funeral home I speak highly of. Although he usually doesn’t do so, the funeral director Scott offered to view potential cemetery plots with the family, even though he hadn’t yet met them and didn’t know the recently deceased. His dedication to customer service is quite legendary.
The family chose to visit Bluff Cemetery in Springdale. The place is known for its beauty and proximity to the creek running through downtown. Scott pulled in behind the new Cadillac the family arrived in. The Springdale Parks worker had already arrived in a white pickup, his camera and clipboard in hand.
After the family exited the car and straightened their respective ties and dresses, Scott accompanied them to the periphery of the cemetery, situated below the overhanging trees. It was certainly a beautiful spot.
To make small talk, Scott nervously asked the family about the deceased. “What did your loved one do for a living?” he asked.
The youngest son answered, “Our dad was a famous writer. You’ve never heard of him?” He seemed surprised. “In fact, all of us are writers.”
“No, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know him or know of him. I read a lot, though.” Scott wasn’t sure what else to say.
The parks employee pointed out the available spots and mentioned that the price was adjusted, based on the reduced size of the plots. “We can dig with much more accuracy than we once could,” he added.
After a moment of silence, the youngest daughter looked along the edge of the cemetery where there were remaining spots available, seemingly measuring their size by her careful steps. She immediately started shaking her head.
“This simply won’t do. Not at all. Dad was too important of a writer to tolerate this kind of mistake.” She seemed agitated.
“How so?” Scott immediately asked.
“The plot’s too thin!” The daughter said, and then laughed loudly.
PS Writers always get the last laugh.