I am certain this story will not be what you thought it would be about (names have been changed to protect the innocent)...
For two years, I worked in a funeral home as an "Operations Specialist" which is a fancy name for being the funeral director's bitch. There were actually 3 funeral directors so I was a bitch for all of them. Sometimes, I was a bitch to all of them! Haha, just kidding. Ahem, but I digress.
One of my most important duties was proofreading obituaries and then sending them off to the newspaper. One evening, Jamie brought up an obituary that needed to be sent off for the following day. As I began reading, I saw that the deceased had a nickname.
"Ummm, Jamie?"
"Yes, Heather?"
"I'm not sure this is right...it looks like you want me to put that Mr. Smith's nickname was 'Kike'..." I didn't even feel comfortable saying it aloud.
Jamie just gave me a blank stare. "So....?"
"Kike?...That's his nickname?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"Kike? K-I-K-E?" I spelled it out for her.
"Is there something wrong with that nickname?" She asked accusingly. Man, these midwesterns were dense. I grew up in Jersey so I knew that there was a whole hell of a lot wrong with the nickname "Kike".
"It's just that...I thought it was a derogatory word," I offered. Another blank stare.
"So...you want me to keep it in?"
"Why wouldn't I? That was a his nickname"
I went back to editing. After a moment of silence, I couldn't help myself...
"So, like, his whole family calls him 'Kike'?"
"Yeah. Why, what does it mean?" I tried to explain to the sweet old funeral director who was raised in a Jew-less world what "Kike" meant, but it just didn't have the oompf it would to a east coast dweller.
The gentleman who put the obits in the newspaper had become a sort of friend over the months I had worked there. I often called him at 5:55pm (deadline was 6pm to enter an obit) to beg him to "hold the press" for another 10 minutes while I finished up a piece and he would oblige.
Otherwise, all communications were via email.
As I hit send on this one, I found myself hoping Mike was Catholic.
I was packing up my things when the phone rang. Jamie peered over her cubicle...
"Heather, it's Mike from the Sandpaper on line 1 for you"
Mike was calling!?
"Yes, Mike?"
"Hey, Heather. I just received the obit you sent over and there is a little problem. We can't run an obit with the word 'Kike' in it."
"Oh, Mike...haha" I tried to laugh it off (I tried to warn them!) "It's not a problem, we'll let the family know. Just run it without the nickname." I said
"It's weird...I don't know why. We have a software that prevents certain things from going through and it's picking up this word for some reason."
Oh, Mike must be from the midwest too.



