Read Online Just Kill Me by Adam Selzer - Free Book Online Page A

a few more training exercises, but then we notice the tomb of the “Fuchs” family. Things get a little middle school from there. I think you can only spend so long in a graveyard before you notice that half of the gravestones look like dicks, and then names like “Johnson” and “Fanny” on the stones start to be hilarious.
    Maybe some people can see that sort of thing and not chuckle.
    But not Cyn. Certainly not Rick. And not me.
    These are my people.
    For dinner we go to the nursing home where Rick and Cyn work their day jobs. Part of the deal for them is that they get to eat for free in the cafeteria when they want to, which saves them a few bucks on groceries.
    It’s cute how popular Rick and Cyn are with the residents. We’re invited to sit at nearly every table, and end up with a woman who can’t be less than a hundred and fifty years old. She has a nurse with her to work her silverware and stuff, since she’s too frail to feed herself.
    â€œThey keep wanting me to give a talk on local ghost lore for the residents,” says Rick, as we sit down at the round tablewith our cafeteria trays. “But I’m afraid that’d be like giving a talk on career day at high school. Like, ‘This could be YOU in a couple of years!’ ”
    I snort, and the old lady sitting with us laughs a little bit herself. This only encourages Rick.
    â€œHave you thought about what you’ll be when you get out of here?” he goes on, in the kind of voice people use to impersonate salesmen. “Consider a career in the ghastly arts! You don’t have to settle for being an orb; with the right training, you could be a poltergeist, a full-body apparition, or even a phantom foul-mouth! You have so much potential!”
    â€œPhantom foul-mouth?” I ask.
    â€œYeah,” says Cyn. “Ghosts who swear at people. There are a few of those in town. And there’ll be one more when I kick it.”
    â€œMe too,” says the old woman at our table. “That’s what I want to be. One of those.”
    â€œMegan,” Rick says, “this is Mrs. Gunderson. She’ll haunt the crap out of everyone when she goes.”
    â€œHi,” I say.
    Cyn starts to take a bite of an apple, but Mrs. Gunderson taps on the table and gives her a look. “We pray before we eat, young lady.”
    Cyn nods, puts down the apple, and gives me a “play along” look. I nod back, and Mrs. Gunderson puts her hands together and says, “Dear Lord, please hurry up and take me, because I am ready to go. This place smells and I do nothing but ache allday long. I can’t see or move, but my brain is still sharp enough to know how miserable I am. Please bring me into your loving arms soon. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”
    Then she smiles at me sweetly as the nurse starts spoon-feeding applesauce to her.
    â€œOh, Mrs. Gunderson,” says Cyn. “You’re so silly.”
    When we finish eating, Rick and Cyn lead me outside.
    â€œIs she always like that?” I ask. “Praying to die?”
    â€œEvery day,” says Rick. “It’s all she talks about. She’s in a lot of pain. Lots of those people are.”
    â€œThat really sucks,” I say.
    â€œDon’t worry,” says Cyn. “We’re taking care of her.”

    At Second City, the comedy school where Rick is taking classes, we follow him up a maze of escalators and down a series of halls into a bare-walled room with nondescript carpet, fluorescent lights, and exposed pipes. While he chats with the lanky, gray-haired teacher, and the other students look at their phones, Cyn and I hang in the back by a stack of disused music stands. I send Zoey the pictures I took of the hallways, which have photos of all the famous comedians who got their training here: Tina Fey, Steve Carrell, Stephen Colbert, three out of four original ghostbusters. Everyone, really. I always like