The Browns Lost Because I Won a Free Cemetery Plot

I can’t make this up. I won a free cemetery plot.

Yes. A place to rest my soulless body for eternity. For free. For me.

Let me paint the scene.

I was watching my Cleveland Browns who, at that point, we’re winning. Football games are stressful – especially when my team is winning because I sincerely am simply trying to figure out how they are going to lose. It really is easier on my body when they are losing.

At any rate, the doorbell rings. Being the only adult at home, I have to answer it. I walk over my children who are peacefully playing, and answer the door.

It’s someone I don’t know. On a Sunday.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with people leaving their testimony with me, provided they are equally polite if I kindly decline their offer, but I don’t like being interrupted during the football game family time.

I look at her quizzically, “Yes?!?”

“Are you (she says my full legal name)?”

Is she about to serve me a summons? I think the statue of limitations has to be up on the time that I parked in the expected mothers’ spot at Babies R Us. In fairness, the sympathy weight that I gained necessitated a closer spot. Surely my testimony in court will play well with the jury…

“Congratulations! I am here on behalf of (name of cemetery)…”

Ok. This may be worse than I thought. A summons may be preferred. I didn’t think cemeteries sent people to get you? They have a valet service? I’m not ready to go. I didn’t order this! My children are playing right there. My wife isn’t home. AND THE GAME IS STILL ON! Can’t the Grim Reaper’s messenger wait until at least halftime?

“…and you have won a free cemetery plot.”

And she smiled.

Keep in mind she is dressed in all black. Is speaking in not much more than a whisper, and the intonation of a computer.

My reaction must have been epic because the corner of her lips cracked just enough to indicate a surprised smile.

“A free cemetery plot?” Was all I could muster.

“Yep! It costs a lot to die these days. Funerals are expensive.”

“But I didn’t enter my name.” And suddenly I start a mental list of “friends” who may have put this poor soul up to this giveaway. At the top of my list is a coworker, who happens to coach wrestling. If you are reading this, YES, I initially blamed you, Jason.

“We do a monthly random draw. Do you own land?”

“Well, you are standing on it.”

“No, I mean space. Cemetery plots.”

“Umm. No.”

She reiterated her point about the expense of burying a body. She was very kind, deliberate, and informative. Not the kind of person I expected the Grim Reaper to send.

“Here’s an example of what your certificate will look like. You’ll receive a call later this week to affirm the details.”

I don’t know that I want to answer a call from a cemetery.

The game.

I politely thank her appropriately for the prize (this was awkward – do I jump, shout, hug her?). And then I watched the Grim Reaper’s messenger leave my porch. I sat down and resumed the consumption of my game.

The doorbell rang again. The Grim Reaper’s messenger was back. Still in all black.

“I forgot to ask when is a good time to call,” she said with a smile.

Well, this is convenient. Do I get to pick a day, a year?

We arranged for later this week. Apparently, I should have picked that day.

My Browns lost in the final 30 seconds. And it nearly killed me.

I knew she was a bad omen.

That’s all I’ve got for now…Captain out!