Monday, January 09, 2006

 

Love in a cold climate

Just finished a weekend shift at work, which for us corpse mechanics means long stretches of mind-fucking boredom punctuated by crises. I was sitting reading a copy of Viz when a suicide came in. They take a while to reach us because there always has to be a coroner’s investigation first, so by the time we get them they’re fairly rancid as a rule.

This one wasn’t too messy, a self-poisoning, but I hate those types because they piss me off so much. Someone reads on the label that more than eight paracetamol per day can be harmful, so they take triple that to be on the safe side, thinking they’ll slide into a nice dreamy coma and wake up getting a blow job from an angel. Instead they endure days or weeks of agonising liver-rot before liquefying into a jaundiced pool of pus. Every sentient being must know by now that pills are the least effective way to off yourself quickly, so why oh why oh why do the sad dumb fucks keep at it?

Anyway, people who commit suicide are on the whole selfish cunts. The only time suicide can possibly be worth it is if you’re utterly alone in the world, with no-one who gives a fuck for you, and I don’t care what people say, there are very, very few people in that position. Even then it’s very rarely a clever thing to do. But if there’s a single person, or even animal, who feels at least affection for you, then you’re an utter bastard to kill yourself. It’s one of the most cruelly aggressive acts you can undertake. The exception is of course the scum of the earth, like rapists and child molesters – they should be actively encouraged to delete themselves.

I worked on the stiff with Lorraine, my colleague, and at one point (might have been when I was fixing the eyes shut) she asked if I’d like to go to a post-Christmas work do. What she really meant was, “Sorry about turning you down two years ago and I want your body”. I’d taken her out back then for coffee but it had gone no further, even though I’d offered to let her come up and see my collection of Stanley knives, something I reserve for special people. I can’t go out with her now as my heart belongs to another, so I said, “Sorry, Lorraine, but I’m busy.” It made my day.

Comments:
You mean you hadn't already told her you were engaged? I suppose those corpes must discourage friendly interaction between work colleagues. You people need to loosen up and find your inner apes.
 
so why oh why oh why do the sad dumb fucks keep at it?

cuase u misarble cnuts baned guns u misserbal gugnbannign cunt!

what led u to get inta taht lina wrok anyhow?

btw u shuld alow anomyomous comannts. not evaryboddddy has a bolgar acuont.
 
GB -I had told her but it was no deterrent, the minx.

Arl - I didn't ban the fucking things and I'm all for having lots of them around. Good point about the anonymous comments - I've taken your advice and allowed them. Might get some more traffic.
 
Footy I did not realize you had linked to me. I will do the same forthwith, as soon as I have re-stocked my beer supply and allowed the dog to empty his bladder. 'Corpse-mechanic' indeed. No wonder you like Six Feet Under. Class in a glass. Remember the scene when a few characters get stoned and Nate excaims, "What language are you fucking speaking!" Great stuff.
 
Paracetamol overdosee wakes up in hospital.

Paracetamol overdosee : “Oh I’m so sorry I put everyone to so much bother, it was a silly cry for help.”
Doctor : “That’s all right love, you’ll be dead by Thursday.”
 
That was a very interesting read about your work on the stiff and your thoughts on their grace-less exit.

My husband used to comment when we started dating back in 1988 that women would not give him the time of day until he was firmly "my man". I think it was because he stopped looking so needy. After we got engaged, the women he worked with were throwing themselves at him. They found his unavailability and romantic ideals attractive. One was so aggresssive; she kissed him one evening after they got off work. We were only married 5 weeks then. He started to kiss her back but then realized she was totally skanky and he had Me to come home to. After he came home at midnight, he woke me up saying he had something to tell me. I replied, "you kissed someone." He admitted it. I still don't know why that was my first guess at what he was about to say.
 
Brew - thanks for the link. Six Feet Under is the bollocks, and damn accurate in its portrayal of the business.

Doc - that's just cruel, and you've given me a headache from laughing. Better take a paracetamol.

Janine - you're married? Then you sound totally hot. Fancy a glance at my Stanley knives?
 
My favorite stiff was the multple stab wound in August. the neighbors called in after not seeing him for a few weeks.

The old fellow had melted into the matress.

Convinced me to change my line of work, that one did.
 
My brother sometimes does M.E. work up in Maine. The people up there tend to off themselves violently, with shotguns rigged in some outlandish way so that they can reach the trigger with the barrel in their mouths. Sometimes he'll go into gorey detail...while we're eating. I can handle it, because coming from a medical family, dinner conversation could always be a little...off color. But my husband has been known to get a little green. It's hilarious.
 
How on earth did you end up in a job like this? I can't imagine it's something you got advice from the career's teacher at school about.
 
It's the kind of job you go for when your social skills aren't up to dealing with the public as normally understood.
 
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