Gary Tancred glanced at his wife, Gertie, and gave her a wink before handing a card to the host at the Crimson Crustacean.
“Hi,” he said. “We’re here for the end-of-life planning seminar and complementary meal.”
The Tancreds had received an invitation in the mail a couple of weeks earlier, one sent by the Heavenly Meadows Memorial Gardens Mortuary. It stated that if they attended “an informative session concerning advance funeral planning options that allows you ask difficult questions and receive compassionate answers,” they would be rewarded with a delicious dinner.
Why not? Even though they were both in good health, they were also in their mid-70s. And one can be plowed over by a bus at any age, so there is never a bad time to prepare for the inevitable big sleep.
So, they put on their Tuesday best and headed out for date night.
The Crimson Crustacean was decorated in a distinct nautical theme, with life preservers and oars tacked to its ruddy red walls and a shipwreck display situated just outside the entrance to the main dining area. The host, wearing a sailor cap, navy blue pea coat, white slacks and black sneakers, cheerfully escorted the couple to an area designated “Grub Ahoy.”
Once inside, they joined several other couples at a long table – one adorned in a white, plastic tablecloth dotted with cartoon anchors. Standing at a podium a few feet from the table was the family service counselor at Heavenly Meadows.
“Hello, I’m Steadman Wilshire, and I’d like to welcome everyone to the Crimson Crustacean,” he said in a low, raspy voice. “I know that you’ll enjoy the wonderful dinner and I trust you’ll find our program quite informative.”
Gary raised his hand.
“Hate to interrupt, Steadman, but we don’t have any menus,” he said.
Mr. Wilshire forced a smile.
“Actually,” he said. “The meal is already pre-planned. Each of you will receive a fish filet, baked potato and dinner roll, as well as your choice of iced tea, soda or water.”
Gary furrowed his brow.
“Well, that’s unfortunate, Steadman,” he said. “I was gonna order the Endless Lobster Trap with fries, and one of those cheese and jalapeno biscuits they’re always talking about on TV. Now, the fish plate is fine for Gertie – this is my wife here, Gertie – because she’s allergic to shellfish. But even if she wasn’t, she wants no part of a lobster.
“See, when she and her sister, Agnes, were teenagers, they went on a family vacation to Maine. They were on a pier horsing around and the damnedest thing happened; a lobster somehow got loose and attacked Agnes. Bit off her left nipple. We never knew if it was a random attack or a targeted one, or how her nipple even found itself in harm’s way, but you never forget something like that. At least I haven’t, and I wasn’t even there. Just imagine … losing a nipple. Mine are getting tender just talking about it.”
Wilshire didn’t know quite how to respond.
“I, uh, I’m sorry about all that, sir,” he said.
Gary interrupted.
“Not your fault at all, Steadman,” he said. “I mean, unless that was your lobster that got loose. In that case you don’t need to apologize to me, you need to apologize to Agnes and her good nipple.”
Wilshire’s eyes widened.
“We really do need to get on with the program, sir,” he said. “And as you can see, the food is already being placed on the table.”
Gertie raised her hand.
“One thing real quick, Steadman,” Gertie said. “I know funeral homes will do things like embalm you and put you in a coffin, or shove you in a furnace and cremate you. I guess all those are standard. But do you have, like, a Thelma and Louise plan? I mean, say if Gary and I both die and we’re willing to pay for it, is there a way you could put us in a convertible and drive us over a cliff? That just seems like it would be a fun send-off. I know our family would get a kick out of it. Especially Agnes, poor thing. Oh, even better, maybe get Susan Sarandon or Geena Davis to do the eulogy. If you could just talk a few minutes about those options, we’d really appreciate it.”
Wilshire was now red-faced and his once low voice grew higher.
“You two are being very disruptive and, frankly, wasting our time,” he said, practically spitting out his words. “We’re here to have a serious discussion and you … well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to leave.”
Gertie produced a couple of Styrofoam containers from her oversized purse, and she and Gary raked the food inside them.
“Well, Steadman, you’re the one who sent the invitation saying we were in for an informative session concerning advance funeral planning options that allowed us to ask difficult questions and receive compassionate answers,” Gary said. “And you never even answered the question about the Thelma and Louise option. We’ll just be taking our complementary food to go, thank you very much.”
The pair hurried out of the dining area and made a beeline to their car. After Gary cranked it up and pulled out of the parking space, both of them erupted in laughter.
“That was fun, Gertie,” Gary said. “Date nights with you are the best. And I gave ‘em a fake email address and phone number, so we don’t have to worry about any follow-up. What do we have next?”
Gertie opened the glove compartment and pulled out a small stack of invitations.
“Let’s see,” she murmured. “OK, next Tuesday at Cowpokes there’s a financial seminar. Free steak dinner.”
Gary smiled.
“Financial seminar, huh?” he said. “That’ll be fun … I’ll do the bit where I start talking about the Irish Republican Army when he brings up IRAs.”
Gertie howled.
“I love that story,” she said. “Especially the part where your cousin loses his right nipple in a friendly fire incident. Anyway, let’s get home and eat before the fish gets cold.”