By FJ Gibson
It was one of those Alabama days when the air felt thick, when it was hard to breathe, when the
only breeze came from the pasteboard fan she waved.
Funeral fans. She’d held so many. So many friends, family, even strangers passed on.
The ritual was always the same. Go on in the church. Find a pew. Pick up the fan dutifully placed by the church women on the worn seats. Waiting.
What was printed on the fan she held? A prayer? A Bible verse? No. An advertisement. “Honest Abe’s Log Cabins,” this one said. “We bring your dreams to life.”
Seems like nothing can escape the reach of corporate tentacles these days. Nicely done.
Thank you, David.
The ending made me smile. Catchy.
Hmmm, maybe the marketer in chief will start hawking funeral fans.
I’d buy one if it was for his funeral!
Touche! So ironic but real.