In any job, attention to detail is paramount. For Bob the undertaker, a single overlooked detail—a room number—resulted in physical pain and profound embarrassment. His wife knew something was amiss the moment he walked through the door, his eye already swelling into a deep, purplish hue. Asking what happened, she settled in for a story that was equal parts professional dilemma and classic farce.
Bob started from the beginning. He’d been dispatched to a hotel where a guest had died. The manager warned him of a unique challenge: the man had passed with such a substantial erection that he couldn’t be zipped into a body bag. Bob, armed with this information, proceeded to the room. He entered, confirmed the presence of a large, unclothed man with the reported condition, and immediately set to work solving the problem.
Seeing the erection as the sole obstacle, Bob’s solution was hands-on and literal. He gripped it firmly, planning to fold it against the body to achieve a flat enough profile for bagging. It was an action born of pure utility, a tradesman addressing a mechanical issue that prevented him from completing his work.
His wife acknowledged the distasteful nature of the task. Yet, the jump from that task to a black eye required an explanation. Bob provided it with one succinct, hilarious line that tied the entire misadventure together. He had, in his haste, entered the incorrect room. The “deceased” he had so practically manhandled was in fact a very much alive stranger, who reacted to the sudden violation with a swift and powerful right hook. The black eye was a vivid receipt for Bob’s failure to perform the most basic of checks, proving that even for an expert in death, a lack of awareness can be a waking nightmare.
