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| Hall: | Millennium Hotline, Resurrection Services, Brother Hall speaking. How may I serve you on this blessed day? |
| Karen: | Hi, yes. My name is Karen Crandall. When I arose this afternoon— |
| Hall: | Just a sec, Sister Cran— |
| Karen: | Don’t call me Sister Crandall. Call me by my first name, Karen. Sister Crandall is my mother-in-law, who won’t be resurrected for at least a month, thank goodness, she’s such a shrew. Bless her heart. |
| Hall: | O-kay. Sorry to hear that. But Karen, before I can assist you, I need your number. Please scan it now. |
| Karen: | My number? |
| Hall: | Your resurrection number. It’s on the inside of your right wrist. I need you to hold that up to the scanner—just in front of the screen there. |
| Karen: | What are you talking about? There’s nothing on my wrist. |
| Hall: | (chuckles) I assure you, it’s there. |
| Karen: | No, it’s not. |
| Hall: | You can’t see it with your eyes, but the scanner can read it. All perfected bodies have one. |
| Karen: | I knew it! I knew there had to be a mistake. |
| Hall: | Karen, if you’ll give me that resurrection number, I can— |
| Karen: | There is no number! It’s not a perfected body. Somebody made a mistake. |
| Hall: | I can tell you’re upset, and I’d like to help, but I really need— |
| Karen: | You know what I need? A perfected body. I don’t know how you people get away with such shoddy workmanship. Just look at the hair on my legs. It’s giving cave woman wearing a pelt. And my underarms? Spider nests! |
| Hall: | I…uh… |
| Karen: | And speaking of hair, what’s up with this stringy, dishwater blonde? I’ve been a natural redhead since my twenties. Just ask Stan. |
| Hall: | Stan? |
| Karen: | Stan at the Cut and Curl! Keep up. And my nose—it’s got that lump again. And my bazoombas? No baz or zoom. More like deflated fifty-year-old birthday balloons. |
| Hall: | Wow. That’s…an image. |
| Karen: | So this ain’t no perfected body, bub. I need to speak to the manager. |
| Hall: | Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure I can help— |
| Karen: | Nope. I can already tell my issue is above your paygrade. Read my lips. Man-na-ger. Now. I don’t have all day. |
| Hall | Funny thing, we do. You see, time is now plastic— |
| Karen: | Listen. Brother Hank? Henry? |
| Hall: | Hall. |
| Karen: | Yeah, that’s it. Brother Hall. You seem like a nice guy. |
| Hall: | Thank you. |
| Karen: | And I don’t want to be a problem. But there’s obviously been a mistake. All that tithing assured special considerations, right? I paid good money for a perfected body— |
| Hall: | I understand— |
| Karen: | No you don’t. You really don’t or I wouldn’t be looking at this Jello pudding of an abdomen. Manager. Chop-chop. |
| Hall: | I really want to help you, Sister Crandall—Karen! Sorry, sorry. |
| Karen: | Yes, you are! |
| Hall: | I apologize, again, Karen. I’m not used to first names. |
| Karen: | You’re not a detail person. I get it. That’s why you’re answering the hotline instead of populating planets, why I’m not tall and willowy, and why I need to speak to your manager. |
| Hall: | I hear and respect your concerns, Karen, but before I can escalate your issue, I really need to review your records in the Book of Life database, and that requires your resurrection number. Can you put your Resurrectionist on the line? Maybe he can help us sort this out? |
| Karen: | My what? |
| Hall: | Resurrectionist. The Elder who called you from your grave. Your husband, perhaps? |
| Karen: | That bum? He’s not here. |
| Hall: | You’re alone? That’s not protocol. |
| Karen: | Hello. That’s what I’ve been saying. Nothing about this is kosher. Man-na-ger! |
| Hall: | That’s not good. Someone should be there to ease you into— |
| Karen: | Look, I don’t know what kind of fly-by-night operation you got going— |
| Hall: | Fly-by… |
| Karen: | But I’m not accepting this subpar body. Somebody better fix this quick before I run into Myrtle or anybody else from the ward. |
| Hall: | Without your number, Karen, I can’t look you up and see what our options are. Can you please— |
| Karen: | Why are you making this so difficult? I’m not asking for a refund, just a do-over. I want—no, I demand an upgrade. This embarrassment isn’t what I signed up for. I was a girls’ camp leader, for goodness sake—and we found little Sarah just two days later, no harm no foul right? Didn’t even make the papers. My son served a mission—two days, two weeks, two months, two years, it’s all the same, right? That’s what the bishop said. And what about all my ministering and compassionate service—that much Mac & Cheese should get me fuller lips, at least! |
| Hall: | I want to help you, I really do. Could you humor me and just hold your wrist up to the screen? |
| Karen: | |
| Hall: | |
| Karen: | |
| Hall: | Please. |
| Karen: | Oh, all right already. Here. Satisfied? |
| Hall: | Yes. Thank you. Can you confirm: Karen Ann Myers, born May 27, 1961, in Buena Vista, California, USA, to Edna and Joseph Myers. Last ward of record: Santa Monica Ward, Los Angeles California Stake. Sealed to Mark W. Crandall on June 12, 1982, in the Los Angeles Temple. Three children: Mark, Amber, and Bryson. Civil divorce October 6, 2019. Death December 20, 2049. |
| Karen: | (sigh) Yes. Is that really what my life summed up to? |
| Hall: | Not at all, not at all! This is just the big picture overview. The angelic scribes recorded many entries in the Book of Life about you, don’t worry. |
| Karen: | How many? |
| Hall: | What? |
| Karen: | How many? Like, more than average or what? |
| Hall: | Uh…enough? |
| Karen: | You know you really suck at your job, right? Wait. Don’t answer that. Just correct your mistake and get me the body I deserve. |
| Hall: | According to your records, it does look like your timed resurrection and assigned body is correct— |
| Karen: | That’s impossible! I have bushes for eyebrows, no lashes, and—oh, hell no! Is that a chin hair?! No, no, that’s unacceptable! What kind of monster does this to a woman? I wanna speak to someone with a brain who can actually fix this horrible mess! |
| Hall: | Karen, Karen, breathe. It’s going to be fine. The good news is that you’re right; given your charitable works, there are a few things that can be done. I’m going to transfer you to Brother Dunn in Body Modifications. He’ll walk through your options and schedule any additional services. Can I put you on a brief hold, Karen? |
| Karen: | (gurgles inconsolably) |
| Hall: | Karen? Karen, it was a pleasure serving you today. Please hold while I transfer your call. Thank you. |
| Karen: | Wai— |
| Dunn: | Hey, Brother Hall! What’s up? |
| Hall: | I got a hot one for you. Here’s the record. |
| Dunn: | Oh, wow. |
| Hall: | Yeah. |
| Dunn: | Based on her birth year, I bet she wants an early ‘80s glam update. No prob. |
| Hall: | Really? |
| Dunn: | Yeah. Been authorizing those all afternoon—along with blacken teeth, foot binding, cranial reshaping… |
| Hall: | You’re kidding. |
| Dunn: | Nope. Pretty standard stuff for the Afternoon of the First Resurrection. |
| Hall: | Man, this is so different from the calls I took for Kolob Mansions and Beach Houses. |
| Dunn: | Well, if Resurrection Services are too tough, you can always move to Celestial Marriage Arbitration. I hear they have an opening. |
| Hall: | (shudders) No, thank you! |
| Dunn: | (laughs) Okay, I’ve got Sister Crandall— |
| Hall: | Don’t call her that! Call her Karen. |
| Dunn: | Ah, I see that note now. Thanks for the tip. Have a blessed day! |
| Hall: | Thanks, man. I owe you one. Pickleball later? |
| Dunn: | Of course! Bye. |
| Hall: | (sigh) Millennium Hotline, Resurrection Services, Brother Hall speaking. How may I serve you on this blessed day |
_____________
I’ve wondered about perfected bodies ever since a fluffy BYU religion professor drew celestial figures on the chalkboard and said, “In their perfect form, all bodies are round.”
Wait! How round? And why? And does that mean I can skip leg day?
So many questions!
This post also appeared on Exponent II
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