Your Choice of Euphemism

Adapting to life on Earth wasn’t too hard, but human foibles are a little difficult to understand.  The climates and the people here are, generally speaking, wonderful, as are your foods.  Alcohol is a tad strange but I’m becoming an occasional imbiber.  Politics drives me crazy.  Everyone seems to think they’re entitled to all sorts of advantages and luxuries and the government should provide them with little or no taxation. My father told me humans think money grows on trees but I never believed him until I arrived here a few years ago.  Education is another anomaly.   If everyone gets a university degree, thereby decreasing the value of said degree, who is supposed to mow my lawn and wash my Lexus?  Talking of anomalies, or foibles, I fail to understand why so few of you want to know when your’re going to die.  I know exactly when I’ll die and, although it’s not for many years yet, I am ready for the day.  All my long-term plans are based in part on my deathday.   When that day comes and if I’m able, I’ll drive to the top of the highest cliff overlooking an ocean, park the car and then, when I have five seconds left to live, run full speed over the edge screaming ‘Geronimo’.  

I took a stab at helping those brave souls in the SAS.  I knew before they went on a job if they’d live or die.  Trouble came from their superiors, all of whom didn’t want operational plans changed because of my predictions.  They didn’t believe in my capabilities and argued that, even if true, they were bad for morale.  I’ve been to buildings that have collapsed and told rescuers which of those trapped would die in spite of their efforts.  I attempted to direct searchers to those who I knew would live in an attempt to lessen their suffering but my advice was ignored because, again, no-one believed in my predictions.                                                                                  

I once talked with a general and told him I could save many, if not all his troops if battles and the like were planned with my advice taken into consideration.  He wasn’t keen on the idea.  “Not the Australian way, to win wars without casualties – Geneva Convention and all that, you know.  We’d be accused of all sorts of heinous crimes.”                                        

An old-folks home didn’t like my skill either.  “If people know exactly when they’ll die, it will severely limit our income.   We can’t afford to have families negotiating terms and costs because of a known expiry date.  Thanks, but no thanks. 

I told Harriett when she would die.  “Why did you tell me that?” she asked somewhat tetchily.                                                                                                                                         

I let her down as gently as I could.  “Well, I don’t know; I just thought you’d like to know.  I’m probably wrong; usually am,” I lied.                                                                                                  

“If you’re usually wrong, why go around telling people something as awful as that.  You’re demented!”                                                                                                                            

 “Perhaps,” I said.   

Harriett’s brother didn’t believe me when I foretold his death.  After he died in a car crash, she still wouldn’t accept she had fifty-seven more years to live.  Sadly, we’re no longer together.  If I’d I used a euphemism for death, would I still be with her?  If I’d said she’d be in a better place on a certain date, would she have reacted differently?  If someone said the same words to me, I’d think they planned to treat me to a vacation in Paris.  Why do humans use euphemisms?  Why insist on expressions such as met one’s demise, deceased, crossed over, checked out, danced the last dance, left the building or is no longer with us? 

But, to get back to my unique talent, think of the possibilities that arise out of knowing the day and minute you’ll die.  The resultant bucket lists would be interesting.  Would you commit some dreamed-of crime, knowing you would die shortly afterwards?  The information would give most people unanticipated freedom.  Don’t you want to take advantage of my knowledge? 

I can tell you that someone currently reading this will be shuffling off their mortal coil (that’s my favourite euphemism) next week.  If you want to know if it’s you, and at what time and date, get in touch with me at (plingaus@bigpond.com).  Everyone is obviously going to pass on at some point and I’ll give all of you your details when you contact me by email.  I’ll charge $2000.00 for the service but I reckon it’s a paltry sum, given the information you’ll receive.  I can’t tell you how you’ll die as some might try to change the circumstances of the particular day and that severely complicates matters for the rest of us.  One important point; my offer of $2000.00 is for the next ten days only; from then on my fee will be $5000.00. 

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