An Eerie Silence
Tonight is the tenth anniversary of the death of Michael Jackson.
Make no mistake, I am not much of a fan of his. Never have been, even if I did outrage my father by buying a copy of Michael's song "Ben" back in 1972. A love song for a rat from a stupid horror movie.
But I will never forget the night he died. I was working nights taking phone orders for floral arrangements at one of the big international floral fulfillment places. I worked the 3 to 11 shift as a supervisor. Didn't like the job, but I had one kid in college and another about to go. So the job was a necessary evil. I'd had no luck finding a job in my field due to my suing my old boss. I won, but I lost in the fact that I could not get another job in my field for a few years.
By eight pm the calls would usually taper off, you'd get a few but not many. I worked from home and would either read or crochet between calls. That night the phone lines were hopping. I could hear that nearly everyone I talked to that evening had their television on. I could hear bits and pieces of the words on the television, but it wasn't until I started talking to a few of the weeping callers in depth I discovered that Michael had died.
As soon as the news was announced we were flooded with wailing and weeping callers trying to order flowers for the funeral. That night I did more emotional hand holding, talking with grieving devastated fans of Michael's than selling flowers. Took down names and phone numbers, promising to call back and take orders once I found out the arrangements. Had enough contacts by that time in the local florist shops and funeral homes that I knew scaring up the info the next day wouldn't be hard.
I will always remember that night, beyond the droning of the television there was a creeping odd hush over everything. The mass grief was a living palpable thing.
Make no mistake, I am not much of a fan of his. Never have been, even if I did outrage my father by buying a copy of Michael's song "Ben" back in 1972. A love song for a rat from a stupid horror movie.
But I will never forget the night he died. I was working nights taking phone orders for floral arrangements at one of the big international floral fulfillment places. I worked the 3 to 11 shift as a supervisor. Didn't like the job, but I had one kid in college and another about to go. So the job was a necessary evil. I'd had no luck finding a job in my field due to my suing my old boss. I won, but I lost in the fact that I could not get another job in my field for a few years.
By eight pm the calls would usually taper off, you'd get a few but not many. I worked from home and would either read or crochet between calls. That night the phone lines were hopping. I could hear that nearly everyone I talked to that evening had their television on. I could hear bits and pieces of the words on the television, but it wasn't until I started talking to a few of the weeping callers in depth I discovered that Michael had died.
As soon as the news was announced we were flooded with wailing and weeping callers trying to order flowers for the funeral. That night I did more emotional hand holding, talking with grieving devastated fans of Michael's than selling flowers. Took down names and phone numbers, promising to call back and take orders once I found out the arrangements. Had enough contacts by that time in the local florist shops and funeral homes that I knew scaring up the info the next day wouldn't be hard.
I will always remember that night, beyond the droning of the television there was a creeping odd hush over everything. The mass grief was a living palpable thing.
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