Leave it to me to find something to make fun of at a funeral.
During Deborah's viewing, one of her sisters called me over to meet someone. He was a short, rotund little man with a bushy white handlebar moustache who bore a striking resemblance to actor-cum-"diabeetus"-spokesperson Wilford Brimley.
I assumed he was some distant relative who'd driven a long distance to be there, but as it turns out he was the man in the other funeral parlor. He'd lost his wife of 30-something years, and he introduced himself by saying, "You don't know me, but we have something in common..."
We chatted for a bit and he walked towards the front of the room to pay his respects; a kind gesture. I agreed to come to his parlor to do the same. I now realize that was a mistake; a mistake which may well haunt me for the rest of my days.
After several minutes, one of my family members entered Mr. Brimley's parlor and said they needed me, but Wilford would not let his prey go so easily. "Wait, uh, let me get your number," he said. "I have to get back to my family," I replied and began to walk away. He would not be dissuaded. Following me, he said, "Well, let me give you my number." "Later," I said, "I have to get back to my family." Unperturbed, he stopped me and shoved a business card into my hand as I desperately tried to get away.
Finally returning to our parlor, expecting to be introduced to another person of importance, Deborah's sister asked, "Did I rescue you?" She did not, in fact, need me; I needed her to escape the clutches of Wilford Brimley!
Later that same night I learned, to my horror, that no one escapes Wilford Brimley so easily.
After the viewing, only myself, my brother, and several friends remained. We had cleaned up the room and I was just getting ready to say goodbye to Deborah when Wilford rudely comes storming in to get my number. Not thinking, I foolishly gave him my real number. I later realized my mistake and, to compensate, programmed his number into my phone under "IGNORE!"
The next day, only hours after laying Deborah to rest, my phone rings and "IGNORE!" appears on my screen. "Are you kidding me?!" I say to myself. A minute later, my voicemail notification goes off. Wilford says he wants to see how it went and compare experiences. "See how it went?" How do you think it went?! I just buried my beloved girlfriend! What do you expect me to say?! "Oh, it was the best time of my life! You know what I really wanna do? I wanna discuss it and relive it all over again!"
Naturally, I did not call him back. But that does not stop Wilford Brimley.
He called again, days later as I was returning from taking my cats to their vet appointment. I let it go to voicemail once again and deleted it without listening. But that does not stop Wilford Brimley.
He called again, days later as I was hanging out with friends. This time, I sent it straight to voicemail. Seconds later, a second number from the same area code calls! Neither of them left a message, but I'd be willing to bet he called back on another line, trying to trick me into answering my phone!
Look, dude, I understand that you're lonely, and I'm sorry. I sympathize - I really do. I understand how that feels, but that doesn't mean I want to be friends with you. I'm dealing with my own grief; I don't need yours added on top of it. If you need to talk to someone, there are grief counselors. I do not care to relive the worst experience of my life with a complete stranger. Take a hint and leave me alone.
I thought he had gotten the hint after the double-call. All was well for a few weeks. I thought wrong. Nothing stops Wilford Brimley.
Last night, "IGNORE!" popped up on my phone again. Once again, he left a voicemail that was immediately deleted. I have now come to the conclusion that Wilford Brimley is to me what Kahn was to Captain James T. Kirk. He is my arch-nemesis, and he cannot be stopped. Not even by "diabeetus."
BRIMLEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!
