Bury me in an anonymous grave

June 3, 2009

Anonymous Doug comes walking into the bar carrying one of those magnetic flags that say “funeral” on them that they stick on cars who are in a funeral procession from the church to the cemetary.

“Did you steal that or were you actually at a funeral today?” I say.

“No, I was actually at a funeral,” says Anonymous Doug. “Second cousin. I had to read about it in the paper because no one in my family remembered to tell me about it.”

Doug orders a pint of Thomas Becket Lager. If you order one, the bartender has to say “Who will rid me of this meddlesome beer?” and then you have to say “I will.”

“So were you close to this second cousin?” I say, noticing that Anonymous Doug seems a bit preoccupied.

“Not at all,” says Anonymous Doug. “But it’s got me thinking about my own mortality.”

“Funerals usually do that to people,” I say.

“Yeah, but when you die, people will come to your funeral,” says Anonymous Doug. “And they will stand around your coffin and remember all the good times they had with you. They won’t do that with me. They can’t.”

“Because of your anonymous powers,” I say, getting what Anonymous Doug is getting at. “You’re thinking that because no one remembers you while you’re alive, no one will remember you when you die.”

“I’m not thinking it, I know it,” says Anonymous Doug. “I’ll be lucky if the coroner or the funeral home remembers to bury me. Hell, I’ll be damn lucky if anyone finds my body if I happen to die in the privacy of my own apartment.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I say. “If your anonymous powers are a curse, wouldn’t the curse end with your death?”

“I don’t think that’s how curses work,” says Anonymous Doug.

“Okay, what about genetic mutation?” I say. “If your anonymous powers stem from a mutation in your cells, then it would stand to reason that those cells would die with you. Hence, no more anonymity.”

Anonymous Doug ponders this for a moment. “So people would remember me?”

“There’d be nothing keeping you anonymous anymore,” I say.

This seems to brighten Anonymous Doug’s day, for the moment. “So they’d remember me… and everything I ever did with them. Or to them.”

“Yeah… they might…” I say.  “All those women…”

Anonymous Doug came to a realization this day: as bad as it to be anonymous, it’s even worse to be remembered. Especially when you’ve done as much awful stuff as Doug has.





  1. I have a more minor form of this curse. I call it “restaurant invisibility.”

    Seriously, can I get a server to come to my table, fucking ever?

  2. Poor Anonymous Doug :-(

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