Part Deux: Morticians Visit the Happiest Place on Earth

So, yeah - it was kind of weird being at Disneyland with the mortician's conference.  I struck up a conversation with another mother at the swimming pool and the conversation kind of ended when I said what conference we were with. I had to amend it with, "Oh, my husband's not a mortician, he's just speaking at the conference," to point out that we were not one of THEM.  Which is kind of ridiculous, but made me wonder if they do that too, you know, avoid saying what they do for a living in casual conversation.
 
We didn't get to go to the Batesville Casket Company breakfast because, technically, A. and I weren't invited as we were not, technically, part of the conference. But I did get to walk through the exhibit hall and I got to go to their beach party.
 
The exhibit hall was a bit weird, but I was prepared for it.  It was quite out of the way, and no unsuspecting vacationeers could really have stumbled upon it unaware, fortunately.  There were: a hearse company, complete with two models right there on the floor ("Big Cah!" says A.);  several casket companies - not sure what the difference was between them, but one seemed to specialize in personalized embroidery on the lining.  All had 3-4 open samples on the floor. A crematorium company - I didn't stay at that booth long.  Lots of urns - one was interesting - it looked like a regular old wooden picture frame, except that it was an urn.  Presumably you'd put a photo of your loved one in the frame, and no one would know it was an urn ("Hey, honey, you know that old picture of your Dad that's been in that frame forever? I got a new one on sale at Pottery Barn!  Oh, I just threw that old one out!").  Lots of memorial things - programs for services, ornaments of angels, albums, and video companies who put together memorial slide shows, a dove release company (with two live samples, to prove, I guess, that they do use real birds). All were mostly tasteful and I got the feeling that they really are trying to make death easier for the survivors.
 
A couple were a bit odd - a private autopsy company was giving out free T-shirts with 1-800-AUTOPSY emblazoned in big letters on the back.  They were a very hot item, with lots of attendees grabbing a free shirt. I was tempted, but then thought, wait a sec, where the hell am I going to wear that? I took a very small keychain that looks like a California license plate but says, "1-800-Autopsy" - just in case that ever becomes something I'm in the market for.
 
There was the crime scene clean-up company, which provided a very useful service, but again, I didn't particularly want to see the before and after photos.
 
They also had an exhibit of a turn-of-the-century embalming room.  This generated lots of interest, with people ooohing and ahhing over the stuff.  Again, didn't stay long at that one, either.
 
What surprised me the most was the number of hip young folk that work in the funeral industry. They look fresh out of college, and like they were sorority or fraternity material, all blonde and tan and highlighted. They wore nametags that said, "Aurora Casket Company" and looked terribly normal. I'm sure this shouldn't surprise me, but it did.  There were, as expected, lots of middle-aged white men, some with cute families, some with trophy wives, but all looking, I hate to say it, pretty normal. 
 
At the beach party there was an open bar, that, damnit, I couldn't take advantage of, and a Beach Boys cover band. They actually call themselves the "Beach Boys," but their cover was blown when the lead singer whined that there was too much sand being thrown about and his contacts felt like sandpaper.  You're the BEACH Boys, for God's sake.  A. watched a boy of about 9 bury himself in the sand and was quite interested for a long time.  So interested, in fact, that before I could stop him he threw himself back on the sand, grabbed a handful of sand and threw it in his own face.  As you might imagine, we left shortly after that.