"So no one visits?"

"There's no attendance at all, usually. Sometimes friends visit.. sometimes. It's just the same slog, man."  the old man said as he took a long drag of a joint that he promptly passed.

"Over and over again. Days blend, years blend, meals blend. I'm not even too sure what I had for breakfast today. And I never asked for a vacation when I signed up for this contract, and so.."

The old man gestured at a huge board that contained the names and dates of the recently deceased.  There must have been hundreds. Deep in the catacombs of the Funeral Industrial Complex, the man that people only knew as "God" sat opposite Vicodin, a pale and sullen looking man.  Vicodin took a drag of the joint before gently killing the joint in the ashtray that sat between them.

"Are you.. doing okay?" Vicodin asked.

Before the old man could answer, a bell rang and a switch on the wall updated.  "Wing 6, Room B4480"

The old man quickly rose to his feet, clearly pleased that there was a break in this line of questioning.  "I.. I have to go."

Vicodin pressed.  "If you need to talk to someone, you know.."

The old man approached a white robe that hung next to a vanity mirror and cloaked himself in it, while a wig along with a chin piece that supported a fake beard rested on a table.  The old man looked into the mirror, meeting Vicodin's gaze with what looked like a thousand yard stare.

"I'll.. I'm fine. I'm fine." the old man replied, the faintest hint of a break in his voice.

The old man fitted his wig to specification and carefully adjusted his beard before turning to Vicodin.

"How do I look?" the old man asked, a single tear running down his left eye.  Years of covering loss and tragedy had clearly broken this man, and while Vicodin considered for a brief moment whether to try and console the man, he decided against it, for now.

A tired smile broke out over Vicodin's face.  "You look good, Tobes-"

Vicodin coughed loudly.

"Sorry. Asthma. You look good, man.  Thanks for the book. It's useful information. I've got to get going soon as well, anyway.  I'll see you next week.  Go get 'em."

Vicodin briefly flashed a book that read "VISITOR LOG" and with that, the men left in opposite directions, and upon reaching his car, he pulled out a piece of paper and began writing to a local news outlet for an editorial.

Dear Annie,

It seems these days that the funeral industry has taken an unusual turn.  I'm not talking about the homeless - no one gives a shit about the homeless in my business. No one should. But a fascinating thing has happened. Resting in our funeral homes there are earners, wise guys and beyond - even those that have gone quite far in their journey, it seems - without a word of acknowledgment from their former employer. Sometimes you'll get friends visiting, of course. Perhaps on a rare occasion you'll get a visit from one of their hands.

I can't help but wonder why.  Despite what is likely a range of their quality and input into their organizations, the fact of the matter is that these men and women were hired.  Someone hired them, gave them a home.  Investments of time were surely made on both sides. I'd be willing to wager most of them put some money into those organizations as well. And, for whatever reason landed them into the funeral home, their final calling card often shows the organization they were hired by.  Who they worked for.  

I do wonder if this is a change we've ever talked about as a society.  I can't proscribe to know every situation that leads to the death of these men and women.  Perhaps they did some despicable actions that warranted their removal.  But in those circumstances, it was historically expected that their upper structure would say as much in a respectful manner in their funeral.  No witnesses wanted. A mistake was made.  But this isn't happening here.  Maybe in some of these cases they simply didn't live up to their members standards. In a traditional employer-employee relationship, this would result in a simple termination.  Our line of work takes the termination part quite seriously.  It means someone isn't coming back.

All of this to ask a few questions - when these men and women are laid to rest, whatever circumstance they may be - should they be acknowledged in their funeral? Do they deserve acknowledgment? Or is it simply something we've decided, as a society, to no longer place much value in once their employment has ended?

"There's a quote that has floated about for a while now. We all die twice. Once when your heart stops beating, and once when you are forgotten. I don't think it is fair to say that those who are deceased and whose funeral parlors sit empty are necessarily forgotten. We all have our own ways of grieving. However, I also think it may be a fair criticism that once one's loyalty is pledged to their boss, they might see a small token of that loyalty returned to their kin, in the form of a well wishes, if nothing more. 

That's only my humble opinion, though."