Dessert With A Coroner
Last night was interesting. Dara told me her mom wanted us to stop by her place for dessert and coffee. Guess she wanted to see me for some reason. Dara said her mom remembered me, but I don't recall ever meeting her mother. Must have been a quick hello-goodbye sort of thing when we were still in high school. It didn't really matter, all I was thinking about was cheesecake. That's what was for dessert. I'm a total fiend for cheesecake. If I'm at a restaurant and cheesecake is on the dessert menu, there are no other options for me. I must have it.
Her mother lived in a nice apartment building not far from where my grandmother lived when I was a kid. I had not been back to this neighborhood in many years. It was a little strange to be driving the Cougar through there since the last time that happened I was in the passenger seat of the car and Grandma was behind the wheel. When I turned 16 she gave me her car and I've had it ever since. It's cool. Definitely rips up the pavement.
When we arrived at the apartment Dara's Mom was acting really happy and kind of silly. She gave me a big hug and invited us in. Her apartment was very tastefully decorated. We all sat down in the living room and began to chit-chat. I asked Dara's Mom what she was doing for work these days and she replied, "I'm a county coroner." Damn. That's got to be kind of a harsh job, I thought.
I said, "You must see some really terrible things daily. It's got to be a difficult job to go to every day. Myself, I don't think I could do it."
She nodded and said, "The people I have the most trouble with are the jumpers."
"Jumpers?" I had no clue what Dara's Mom was getting at.
She said, "The people who commit suicide by jumping off of the Golden Gate bridge. They're the worst."
"How come, and why do you have to deal with them? The bridge is quite a ways up the freeway from here." I didn't understand.
Dara's mom explained. "The county line is in the middle of the bridge. If someone jumps off on our side of the county line, we have to go get them. If they jump off the city side, it's their body. But, if a jumper goes from our side of the bridge and then washes up on the city side, we still have to go get them. And vice versa. It's a pain trying to get them into a body bag because when they hit the water every bone in their body breaks. It's like trying to grab a large sack of jello. There's no good spot to get hold of them. Once you have them inside a body bag it's still a chore to get them off the ground and into the back of the car." She continued. "I've noticed one strange thing about them, happens every time. If they were wearing blue jeans, their pants will be ripped like someone took a knife and tore them to ribbons all the way to the crotch."
How odd. Must have something to with them hitting the ocean feet first, I figure. I bet the water pressure travelling up their legs is so extreme that it rips the fabric like that. This was certainly some unusual subject matter to be having over cheesecake and coffee. I was fascinated. Dara changed the subject to something else. I rapidly lost interest and I proceeded to focus my attention on the plate set in front of me. About an hour or so later, Dara's Mom said she had to get up early for work in the morning. It was our cue to leave. On the way out her Mom smiled at me and whispered, "Take care of her for me." I nodded and said I'd do my best, but I knew there wasn't much I could do about that. Dara's too rowdy, too uncontrollable for me to have any influence over. I had to go with her antics, or not. Simple as that.
Her mother lived in a nice apartment building not far from where my grandmother lived when I was a kid. I had not been back to this neighborhood in many years. It was a little strange to be driving the Cougar through there since the last time that happened I was in the passenger seat of the car and Grandma was behind the wheel. When I turned 16 she gave me her car and I've had it ever since. It's cool. Definitely rips up the pavement.
When we arrived at the apartment Dara's Mom was acting really happy and kind of silly. She gave me a big hug and invited us in. Her apartment was very tastefully decorated. We all sat down in the living room and began to chit-chat. I asked Dara's Mom what she was doing for work these days and she replied, "I'm a county coroner." Damn. That's got to be kind of a harsh job, I thought.
I said, "You must see some really terrible things daily. It's got to be a difficult job to go to every day. Myself, I don't think I could do it."
She nodded and said, "The people I have the most trouble with are the jumpers."
"Jumpers?" I had no clue what Dara's Mom was getting at.
She said, "The people who commit suicide by jumping off of the Golden Gate bridge. They're the worst."
"How come, and why do you have to deal with them? The bridge is quite a ways up the freeway from here." I didn't understand.
Dara's mom explained. "The county line is in the middle of the bridge. If someone jumps off on our side of the county line, we have to go get them. If they jump off the city side, it's their body. But, if a jumper goes from our side of the bridge and then washes up on the city side, we still have to go get them. And vice versa. It's a pain trying to get them into a body bag because when they hit the water every bone in their body breaks. It's like trying to grab a large sack of jello. There's no good spot to get hold of them. Once you have them inside a body bag it's still a chore to get them off the ground and into the back of the car." She continued. "I've noticed one strange thing about them, happens every time. If they were wearing blue jeans, their pants will be ripped like someone took a knife and tore them to ribbons all the way to the crotch."
How odd. Must have something to with them hitting the ocean feet first, I figure. I bet the water pressure travelling up their legs is so extreme that it rips the fabric like that. This was certainly some unusual subject matter to be having over cheesecake and coffee. I was fascinated. Dara changed the subject to something else. I rapidly lost interest and I proceeded to focus my attention on the plate set in front of me. About an hour or so later, Dara's Mom said she had to get up early for work in the morning. It was our cue to leave. On the way out her Mom smiled at me and whispered, "Take care of her for me." I nodded and said I'd do my best, but I knew there wasn't much I could do about that. Dara's too rowdy, too uncontrollable for me to have any influence over. I had to go with her antics, or not. Simple as that.
posted by factory_peasant at 11:03 AM
1 Comments:
no actually i'm not spelling that one wrong on purpose. it's a word a keep screwing up and forget about. i'll add it to my to-do list and go back through to fix it up tonight. y0.
Post a Comment
<< Home