The grisly aftermath
So I took the letter out of my mailbox this morning; junk mail from the Neptune Society of Salt Lake. I was on my way to the Provo Rec Center for a morning swim. Like a fool I inserted my left index finger into the fold to pull down and roughly open it.
And the overly stiff return envelope inside gave me a hellacious paper cut on the very tip of my finger:
I bled all over my freshly laundered shirt and pants as I dashed into the bathroom to initially wrap my bloody finger in winding sheets of tp until I got out the iodine and cotton gauze. I poured a pint of hydrogen peroxide over the still streaming wound, then bound it securely and taped it up with several band aids:
Now I can’t go swimming and I can barely type. My ceramic bathroom sink is stained a lurid pink. And all because those cursed poltroons, those ninnyhammers, at the Salt Lake Neptune Society HAD to send me idiotic literature about cremation:
I didn’t request the damn stuff, and I definitely DO NOT want to be reminded of my inevitable dissolution on a fine winter morning, when I was going to work out and then take the 850 bus on State Street to Rancheritos for a bacon & egg breakfast burrito (they’re huge; I only manage to eat half in one sitting, and save the other half for an early dinner -- just $5.95.)
Of course this is a small thing -- a mere blip and not even a ripple in the stream of passing life. But dammit, all I’ve got left are small things. The big things are all far behind me now. So is it so petty of me to wax wroth over this microscopic glitch in the cosmos?
You bet your sweet tuchas it’s not.
It’s time someone gave the bratty cosmos a swift kick in the pantaloons; and that someone is you and me.. Please, won’t you join me, the next time you blow out candles on your birthday cake or get the larger end of a chicken’s wishbone, in wishing the Neptune Society of Salt Lake and its entire mother loving staff be sent straight to perdition until Trump gets a crew cut?
Or just share this post until it goes viral . . .
(I've called their customer service line, which nobody answered, and left a blistering voicemail.)
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I sent these appleknockers an email with this link, and here is their reply:
Hi Mr. Timothy,
My name is Oliver Fernandes and I’m the marketing analyst for the Neptune Society.
If you can provide me with your full mailing address, I will add your name to our Do Not Contact database.
I’m sorry for any inconvenience you might have received from our mailers.
We at the Neptune Society are passionate about helping each individual plan for their end-of-life arrangements at an affordable price.
But we also understand that not everyone is ready to make their pre-planning arrangements, so I’ll be more than happy to help you being removed from our mailing list.
Please reply to me at your earliest convenience.
Thank you,
Oliver Fernandes
Marketing Analyst
SCI Direct Inc.
P: 954.556.9469
C: 908.803.3835
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