Alice Rickenbacker had many hobbies, collecting ceramic frogs, alphabetizing her cereal boxes, and overthinking literally every social interaction she’d ever had. But her true passion, the one that kept her up at night, was wondering what people really thought of her.
Not what they said to her face. Not the polite “Oh Alice, you’re so… unique.” She wanted the unfiltered, unvarnished, brutal truth. And so, naturally, she did what any completely reasonable, emotionally stable adult would do: she faked her own death.
Alice lay stiff as a breadstick inside a rented casket from Morty’s Budget Memorials, the only funeral home with a coupon program. She had a tiny airhole, a thermos of iced coffee, and a notebook titled “Operation: What Do They Really Think?”
Her plan was simple:
- Play dead.
- Listen.
- Rise dramatically if someone said something unforgivable.
- Profit (emotionally).
The service began.
Her best friend, Marla, sniffled loudly. “Oh, Alice… she always borrowed my clothes without asking, but she returned them… eventually.” Alice scribbled: Marla: mild resentment, but manageable.
Her coworker, Todd, stepped up next. “Alice was… well… she was definitely in the office.” Alice wrote: Todd: neutral, possibly a goldfish in human form.
Then came her neighbor, Mrs. Dingleberry, who always smelled faintly of cabbage and judgment. “Alice was a strange woman,” she declared. “She once yelled at my begonias for ‘looking smug.’” Alice wrote: Accurate.
Everything was going fine, better than expected, actually, until she heard the next comment. It came from her cousin, Brent, who had the emotional depth of a damp paper towel. He cleared his throat. “Well… at least now she can’t ruin Thanksgiving with her conspiracy theories about squirrels.” Alice exploded out of the casket like a jack-in-the-box powered by pure indignation.
“SQUIRRELS DO HAVE A SECRET SOCIETY, BRENT!”
The crowd screamed. Mrs. Dingleberry fainted into a floral arrangement. Todd dropped his phone and whispered, “I knew it.” Alice stood there, hair full of funeral lilies, pointing dramatically at Brent like a resurrected Phoenix of Petty. “You take that back! I have never ruined Thanksgiving. That was Aunt Patty and her ‘experimental gravy.’” Brent shrieked and dove behind a pew.
The Aftermath
Once everyone calmed down and once the funeral director stopped hyperventilating, Alice explained her plan. Surprisingly, most people forgave her. Marla hugged her. Todd asked if he still got bereavement leave. Mrs. Dingleberry demanded reimbursement for emotional damages. And Brent… well… Brent refused to make eye contact with her for the rest of eternity, which Alice considered a win.
Moral of the Story
If you want to know what people really think of you, you could try honest communication, emotional vulnerability, or healthy self-reflection. Or you could do what Alice did. But maybe… don’t.