“We’re Going Paperless,” Owner Says While Printing the Email About Going Paperless

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The Monday staff meeting at Mild Oaks Memorial Chapel was called with the urgency of a major operational breakthrough. Owner and Managing Director Harold Pickett walked in holding a fresh stack of paper, smiled like a man who had just discovered fire, and announced, “We’re going paperless.”

He then handed everyone a printed copy of the email titled: We’re Going Paperless (Please Read).

“It’s important you see it in writing,” Pickett explained, tapping the top page like it was a sacred document. “This is the last thing we’ll ever print. After today, we’re living in the cloud.”

According to staff, the paperless initiative began exactly three minutes earlier when Pickett forwarded the announcement to the office printer “just so everyone would take it seriously.” He proceeded to print an additional copy for the breakroom bulletin board, one for the arrangement desk “in case the internet goes down,” and one for the prep room “because I don’t know what you guys do back there.”

“I support it,” said Administrative Assistant Kayla Moore, already sliding the printed email into a manila folder labeled Paperless Transition. “I’m excited to stop filing papers. Mostly because now we’ll be filing screenshots of papers.”

The email outlined the new plan: all forms would be digital, all approvals would be electronic, and all internal communication would move to a new “streamlined” platform. To help with the transition, Pickett also printed a six-page guide called How To Go Paperless, which included a QR code that linked to a PDF version of the same guide.

“It’s kind of inspiring,” Pickett said, standing next to the printer as it whined and shook itself to life again. “People don’t realize how much time they waste walking to the filing cabinet. If we go fully digital, we’ll save hours. And if we keep printing the digital instructions, we’ll save… the instructions.”

By lunchtime, the staff had received their first “paperless” directive: print out the new checklists, sign them by hand, then scan them back into the computer. When someone asked why they couldn’t just sign digitally, Pickett looked genuinely startled.

“Oh, no,” he said. “I don’t trust those e-signatures. Anybody could do those. I want to see real ink. You can’t fake a pen.”

At press time, Pickett was reportedly seen printing a calendar invite for the next meeting, titled: Paperless Follow-Up (Bring Your Printed Notes).

ASK THE FUNERAL DUDE!

“Hey Funeral Dude, is there a polite way to tell a family that the ‘slideshow guy’ they brought (their cousin with a laptop and confidence) is about to turn the whole service into a chaotic TED Talk with 47 photos and one song that’s 9 minutes long?” – Trapped in the Tech Booth

First, let me commend you for recognizing the sacred danger of “the slideshow guy.”

Every funeral home has technology. We have microphones. We have projectors. We have Wi-Fi that works in theory and disappears the second someone says, “Can you play the video?” That’s fine. That’s modern. I’m innovative. I respect innovation.

What I do not respect is improvisational multimedia performed by a relative who learned PowerPoint the same way most people learn CPR: once, in 2009, in a panic.

Here’s the dignified, professional, innovative solution I’ve been using since the dawn of time (2013):

1) Give him a job title immediately

Look him in the eye and say, “Great. You’ll be our Family Media Coordinator today.”
People behave differently when you give them a title. Suddenly he’s not a hero with a USB drive—he’s staff. Staff follows rules. Staff does not open Spotify and search “funeral song” in front of 130 people.

2) Introduce “The Dignity Standard”

Tell him, calmly: “We love personalization. We just keep it within our Dignity Standard.”
Do not explain what the Dignity Standard is. It’s like TSA. If you argue, you lose. If you comply, you get through.

Then lay down the three dignified boundaries:

Max 25 photos. Because we’re celebrating a life, not scrolling Instagram in 2016.
Max 5 minutes. Anything longer becomes a documentary, and I do not have documentary staffing.
One song. ONE. Not a medley. Not a surprise track. Not “I found this live version that really captures him.”

Say it with warmth. Like you’re offering premium service. Which you are. (And by “premium,” I mean “not chaos.”)

3) Take the laptop out of his hands “for safety”

Not because you don’t trust him. You trust him deeply. With your whole heart.

But say: “We run everything through our system to ensure consistent volume levels and dignified transitions.”
This sounds innovative. It is also code for: I can’t have Kyle clicking around like he’s launching a rocket.

If he resists, hit him with the line that has ended more arguments than embalming has:

“We just don’t want there to be a moment.”

4) Offer a dignified alternative that sounds like a favor

If he insists on 47 photos and a nine-minute song, say:
“That sounds wonderful. We can absolutely run that at the reception.”

The reception is where dreams go to be quietly appreciated by 11 people holding potato salad.

5) When all else fails, invoke the oldest technology of all

The human voice.

If he’s about to stand up and “say a quick thing” while also trying to troubleshoot an HDMI cable, step in and say:

“Perfect. I’ll introduce it.”

Then you introduce it like a professional, which means you do not mention the words laptop, file, USB, or it should work.
You say: “The family has prepared a brief tribute.”
Brief. That word is doing a lot of work.

And if it still turns into a chaotic TED Talk? If the clicker dies, the music blares, the screen goes black, and we all sit there watching a spinning wheel like it’s part of the liturgy?

Remain dignified. Remain innovative. And remember:

A funeral director’s job is not to prevent awkward moments.
It is to absorb awkward moments with such calm authority that everyone assumes it was planned.

That’s professionalism. That’s dignity. That’s innovation.