Stylish to die for

“I think August,” I replied. It’s a great excuse to escape the holidays. Additionally, this bar will definitely open in summer as well.

—Death doesn’t take a vacation —Andrés assured.

“Not exactly,” I said. I think a lot of times the afternoon shift doesn’t even end. This is why they say that “the best always leave”. He has a habit of leaving others who are much worse.

“It’s an indisputable truth,” said the waiter in the tone of one who defends a party despite everything.

—But I certainly fear that death is very snobbish. If I were not, I would go to see those who spare their lives in the morning rather than the afternoon. But as he loves horrors pretend and meet special people, because the bad guys have no way of falling.

“But imagine the clientele of undesirables we would have to put up with here,” I told him. I don’t think it’s so bad that he’s a snob. Improves parishioners.

The tanata bar always has the advantage of schedules. But it is one thing to die in summer, at sunset, and another to die in winter and at dawn.

“Education,” Andrés repeated. People think that dying is something you do without thinking, like yawning or voting. But no ! You have to choose the moment and the weather carefully. Dying in winter is a lack of consideration for those present. They shiver, they slip, and all that distracts attention from the main thing, who is the dead one.

“Besides,” I told him, “tears mix with raindrops and we don’t know if we cry from sadness or from humidity. It’s very vulgar.

“Very vulgar,” the waiter confirmed. And if you push me, I’ll say that too not very photogenic. And today, if funerals don’t go well on social media, it’s as if they don’t exist.

-See? —Andrés said—. What I said. Death is snobbish, but the world is becoming snobbier than death. Before, people died without so much paraphernaliawith discretion. Now you want to die like it’s a Cannes premiere.

“Red carpet and all,” I added. But here, if someone came with a rug, it would be to cover the broken tiles in the entryway.

Andrés let out a laugh that was too cheerful for a funeral bar, which caused some heads to turn around the tables. He shrugged his shoulders: he never had any respect for institutional decorum.

“In any case,” he continues, “we must recognize that dying in August has advantages.” It’s hot at funerals, sure, but there’s also less traffic. And people wear lighter clothes, which gives a more… Mediterranean feel.

Capricious and sensitive

“Mediterranean or directly on the beach,” I concluded. That I saw funerals in which a distant nephew arrived in flip-flops. This seems terrible to me, but of course we no longer know whether to criticize it or celebrate it. Imagine that death, capricious and sensitive, takes offense and decides not to take away the person you dislike simply because you have expressed your disgust for the aesthetics of mourning.

— Ah, susceptible death! —Andrés exclaimed—. I can see her perfectly, extremely offended, crossing her arms and saying: “Well, I’m not taking this one.“.

The waiter set down the glass, already shining like a revelation.

“Look, I’ve thought about it a few times,” he said. If death had a book of complaints, it would be full of complaints due to poor time management. What if he comes late, what if he comes early, what if today is not good for me…

“Like Internet technicians,” I said.

“Exactly,” he replied. The difference is that death does indeed appear. And when he appears, there is no way to reprogram it.

Andrés smiled with that look he adopted every time he thought he had the definitive sentence.

“Death is neither punctual nor non-existent”, he judged, “it is dramatic”. It arrives at the moment when it produces the most effect. That’s why I say he’s a snob. He likes impactlike theater critics.

“So, according to you,” I said, “death is a kind of live performance diva who selects her audience and her tours according to the seasons.

“As is,” Andrés said. And it has its high months and its low months. I would say that February is a month with little demand. It’s an ugly little month, like it’s done quickly. Dying must be cheap.

“But cheap in spirit,” I clarified. Because a funeral in February, with this post-Christmas depression, is like witnessing the farewell of an umbrella.

We remained silent, savoring this metaphor so absurd that Andrés was almost moved.

“Hey,” he said, “and you think there’s a truly poetic month to die for? Not practical, but elegant.

I was thoughtful, like someone choosing a vacation destination.

—“April,” I said. There are rains with nostalgia, flowers with ambition and days that don’t know whether it’s summer or winter. If I were death, in April I would go crazy.

“It’s too obvious,” objects Andrés. Death, which is presumptuous, would not want to be predictable. I think I would prefer September.

-September?

“Of course,” he continued. This is a serious and responsible month. The course begins, we buy new notebooks. Dying in September is a almost bureaucratic formality: “I put this body back in good condition except for the detail of death and I begin a new cycle.” This has its dignity.

The waiter, who had already listened with the resignation of someone who hears daily mass, sniffed.

— September seems expensive to me. Everything goes up. Until you die you must climb.

Andrés raised an eyebrow, proud.

— Because we have a vision of the future. You have to familiarize yourself with the environment. Then people come here not sure whether to ask coffee or lime.

“And the coffee here is to die for,” I added.

The waiter made a warning gesture, as if citing death in vain could invoke it, but Andrés continued.

“Coming back to the subject,” he said, “I still think that Death acts with favoritism. Look: in this same funeral home, how many famous villains have you seen enter?

The waiter thought.

— Less than it should.

“Exactly,” Andrés exclaimed triumphantly. Because death, beautiful as itself, prefers to take people who are loved, admired and enjoying a certain reputation. East like an art dealer: only collect selected coins. The bad ones, on the other hand, remain. And they make our lives impossible.