Set against the backdrop of the 2020 Covid-19 outbreak, a young woman, Gravely Eaton, is stuck working at the family funeral home with a father she hates. The world is dying around her, but there seems no escape from her boring life with no friend...
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People have to reboot their lives from time to time, just like a computer system needs a re-trigger. It's a scary thing to start over and rebuild, but it's part of life. The process takes guts and stamina, and I soon realized I had both by the bucket.
I went through a bit of a reboot when mom left us, and there was a big void there. I coped by distracting myself from my troubles. There was always some action around the funeral home I found interesting. During the summer, when school was out, I'd ride in the back of the flower wagon – that's the car that delivered baskets of flower arrangements to the cemetery – tagging along on trips to the grave site. Father didn't seem to mind as long as I wore my nice dress.
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After the funeral service at a church or synagogue or other places of worship, the flower wagon was loaded with the funeral flowers purchased by the mourners. That done, the driver would hightail it to the burial site for the interment ceremony, arriving about fifteen minutes before the hearse carrying the deceased. On the way, the driver would crank up the music or we'd play punch buggy along the way. If you're interested, punch buggy (also called punch bug, punch car, piggy punch, and other things) is a road trip game. It's usually kids who indulge in the game, but simple-minded employees like the ones we had the funeral home also liked it.
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The game was very straightforward, no boards, dice or keeping score. Once you got the vehicle onto the road, participants punch each other on the arm upon first sight of a Volkswagen Beetle while calling out "Punch buggy!" or "Slug bug!" You could hit hard or simply use the back of your hand to get the attention of the driver or other passengers who were also in play. The severity of my slaps and punches depended on who was sitting beside me, and the level of fondness or disdain I had for them. When I played with Mitch, who I liked, I tapped him gently. When one of the burly, cigar-smoking livery drivers was at the wheel and called me a spoiled brat, I hit him hard. Once we got to the grave, we'd hustle the flower baskets out of the wagon and arrange them alongside the grave. It was fun.
