How will the dearly departed be paying me?

Occasionally I work as a secret shopper, where companies pay me to visit their store and narc on their employees. It’s an interesting gig, and it brings me ever closer to becoming my idol, Harriet the Spy. Interesting was taken to a whole new level this week, though, when my contact asked me to do a secret shop at a funeral home. That’s right, attend a funeral and report back to the higher-ups about the quality of the funeral-going experience. First, let me say that nothing reflects more poorly on a funeral home than their willingness to whore out a family’s final moments with their loved one. Frankly, I should have been appalled that they wanted me to be the hit man in this operation, but to be honest, I was rather intrigued. Ultimately, though, I declined the assignment since the objectives aren’t revealed to you until you accept the job, and I wasn’t going to risk it. I can only imagine what the objective list might’ve looked like:

1: Is the corpse clean and well-presented like Lenin, or is it shapeless and repulsive like Anna Nicole Smith?

2: Did the family and friends grieve like they meant it, or was their sadness neutralized in anticipation of the upcoming will reading?

3: Were the floral arrangements event appropriate, or more suited for, say, a senior prom or an apology for a husband’s infidelity?

4: Would you leave small children unattended with the funeral director?

5: Describe the tissue quality (i.e. too lotion-y, too rough, ineffective at absorbing mucus).

6: Was rigor mortis under control, or could things have been snapped down better?

I’ve done some strange secret shops before, but nothing in this league. In retrospect, I almost wish I had gone through with it, since I would have undoubtedly had a good story or two.