My silence of late hasn't been due to a lack of love towards you, my xanga readership. My insufficient apology is this: I have simply been too busy. Things on the proverbial back burner have boiled over and left a reeking, scorched mess on the bottom of their respective pots as I have tended to those front burner matters. Excuses, excuses. We will make the time, you say, for the things that are important to us. Perhaps you are right. Pitiful apologies aside, I offer you this interesting post: The Suit Sleeve Phenomenon.
Any of you who have read this weblog with any degree of regularity (both of you know your names) will know that I, by profession, am a mortician. A death services merchant. I have worked in this field for the last ten years. Over the years, I have observed many things which seem rather incongruous, given my field of employment. One, there is less crying associated with this business than you would expect. I figure that most dying folks are rather old and full of years and their shuffling off is pretty much expected and natural and not really that sad. There are other things I've found interesting over the years. Some families grossly overestimate their loved one's importance in the community at large. Other families will bicker and argue over the stupidest of things, refusing to put aside their petty differences for even one day to bury Pop. With a little experience, you can spot the fake cryers, too, with their insincere sorrow put on as a show to all present. The insincere cryers are usually those children that lived 1,500 miles away from Dad and only saw him every Christmas, yet they missed the last couple of years due to pressing commitments. Their tears are guilt hopefully disguised as grief. There are many more I could bore you with, yet I'll press on.
There is one thing I've learned that still puzzles me to this day. I call it the Suit Sleeve Phenomenon. Let me explain...
The bane of the mortician's existence is flowers. We hate them. Those funeral directors that don't admit to hating flowers are either, a) making money on the sale of flowers at their on-site shop, or b) liars. Flowers, at a funeral home, are handled repeatedly. They are moved into the room. They are moved from room to room. They are moved from the funeral home to the church. They are moved from the church to the cemetery. They are moved from the cemetery to the family's home. By this time, we hope to be done with them.
Many floral "masterpieces" take advantage of lillies of various kinds. In certain seasons, these lillies have pollinating stamens still attached. Floral pollen has the uncanny ability to horribly stain a shirt or suit if you respond incorrectly to being pollinated by an arrangement as you handle it during one of these junctures. First, you never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never try and clean it off with a damp cloth. That sets the stain in until Christ's return. Also, it is not best to rub it at all, even with a dry cloth.
One way to remove it is to take a towel and beat it off. The force of the beating, plus the wind generated by the beating, often dissipates the pollen and it mostly disappears. I've also used compressed air, like the kind to blow out computers and computer components. It works about as well as the towel beating method.
The best way I've seen is magical. A fellow director showed me this trick one day, probably passed down to him from generations of directors before him. I suffered a pollination one day and he rushed up and wiped the sleeve of his black/gray suit over the pollen. It disappeared. I looked at the sleeve of his suit, expecting to see a smear of orange-yellow pollen. I saw nothing.
Since that day, I have employed the trick myself, teaching it to others as I have had opportunity. To this day, I do not understand how it works or where the pollen goes. It is baffling. Also, since it may be a magical power accorded to only morticians, I would not recommend trying this yourself with your best dark suit. My usage of the Suit Sleeve Phenomenon has not taken place outside of the industry, so I cannot guarantee the same results to non-professionals.
Next: "In Search of Pi"
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