Through some unfortunate circumstances, I now stand to inherit the family business that’s been around for at least a few hundred years, and I really, really, really have no interest in continuing it.
I’ve got a decent career going right now - I work as an underwriter for a small time insurance firm. It doesn’t pay a lot but it’s good work, and I like numbers. Asking me to give it all up to move to some small town in Arizona to make boxes is… well, I just can’t do it.
Well, maybe some background info first. My family makes boxes for storing creamated ashes - creamatory boxes. Some people prefer urns, others like boxes. We cater to the latter kind. My family immigrated here from Belgium back in the early 1900s. Previously, we had a workshop in Antwerp. Supposedly, we were even endorsed by the crown at some point. These boxes were pretty good looking - as you’d expect. They’re generally put out on a mantle somewhere and you’d want them decorated. And they’d have to be sturdy - they were built to survive to be passed down from generations to generations.
Our boxes were of a unique design - and according to my grandfather - every generation had an obligation to improve upon on it. His big contribution was the inclusion of an airtight lead interior with a vacuum seal. The idea was, as soon as the ashes were deposited, you’d connect the box up to a compressor and make the interior a vacuum, prior to sealing it permanently. It “keeps the ashes fresh”, or so I was told.
By the time my brother took over, the box had an intergrated faraday cage to prevent static build up, a sophsticated sensor system to monitor temperature and humidity, and a pneumatic impact system that whacked the lead casing with 300 lbs of force in case the gyros were off, to make the ashes settle. I’m fairly sure the boxes started off small, but they sure aren’t small now. After the various “improvements” and gizmos, the product today is almost the size of a mini fridge, with the weight to match.
But there were two elements which must be retained, present in every box we sell. Firstly, on the outside, the design pattern must include a circular array of what I can only describe as hierogylphics - pictograms of things I’ve never seen in any textbook or online searches. I think it’s a branding that makes our boxes unique and in demand. Secondly, the incense divot must be anointed with a drop of blood from the box’s maker. Don’t ask me why - but this one seems to be a trademark of some sort - to prevent forgeries somehow, I think.
I know it’s kind of dumb that I know so little about my own family’s flagship product, but to be honest, I don’t think anyone expected my brother to pass so quickly. He was always the one groomed to take over. He had the training, the knowledge, everything. I suppose I should be grateful - I’ve generally been left alone to pursue my own dreams.
But not any more. I’ve been summoned back to pick up the slack, to keep the workshop open, and to continue the production. Worst part is, supposedly, a number of long term clients and patrons have been pleading and sometimes even threatening me to keep the shop open. Frankly, I don’t understand why the shop can’t run itself. Why is it so important that I have to take over?
I don’t think I’m ready to lead a business. I’d probably just screw it up. I don’t know the craft. I don’t even know the market. Who the hell keeps on buying these boxes anyway?
Very conflicted right now.