stone walls and furniture.
The mummy groaned and pushed a button on his cell phone with an exposed skeletal finger, ending the call. It took several attempts before the touch screen registered his bony finger. If the cell phone was made by a company with the slogan: "By mummies, for mummies", why was it still so hard to use? Did most mummies have more skin left on their fingers than he did?
His mummification had been performed rather haphazardly, he reflected. He had overspent on the tomb, and not left enough for the actual mummification process. That was of no real importance on this day though. What was important at the moment was that he got his air conditioner fixed as soon as possible. He was not really sure if he could die again but he would rather not risk it. Heat is what had caused his first death, and it certainly was a scorcher of a day, even by underground tomb standards.
The mummy drummed his bony fingers against the rocky armrest of his stone easy chair with one hand, and continued to fan his bandaged face with the other. He stopped briefly to see what he was fanning himself with. It was an invitation to a tomb party he had missed two thousand years previous. He could not remember exactly why he had not gone to the party as he read the invitation. It certainly sounded like quite the shindig. Live music, dancers, hors d'ouveres, beers and wines... He really needed to get out more, he decided. He missed out on too much because he was content with the comforts of his tomb.
He picked up his cell phone again and dialed the number for Cool Ghoul's Air Conditioning Emporium. It rang several times and the mummy got more and more excited with each ring, hoping desperately that someone would answer, but...
"...All of our representatives are currently busy. Please hold for a Cool Ghoul representative, or hang up and call again at a later time. Thank you for calling Cool Ghoul's Air Conditioning Emporium. We appreciate your business!"
"Uuurrrrgghhhh!" the mummy roared. He had quite an extensive vocabulary at his disposal, but he felt that no real words could adequately convey his frustration at the moment. He hung up the phone in a rage. This time it took at least ten tries poking and jabbing the touch screen before the call ended.
There had to be some sort of solution to the air conditioning problem, without having to wait until Cool Ghoul’s Air Conditioning Emporium was able to take his call. It was difficult to think in that kind of heat. He picked up his phone once more and called his father. He usually had decent advice when it came to matters of the tomb upkeep.
“Hello?”
“Hey dad. I’ve got a bit of a problem.”
“Oh hey there, son! Can you make this quick? Your mother and I are kind of busy.”
The mummy furrowed what remained of its brow underneath its face bandages. What could they be doing, and more importantly, did he really want to know the answer? “Uh, sure. But what are you two doing?”
“Sand sailing. It’s exhilarating! You have to come with us next time.” The mummy’s father said jubilantly.
“Definitely, definitely. Wait, where do you sand sail around here?” the mummy asked, distracted from his original goal of asking about the air conditioning. He had never once heard about any mummies going sand sailing anywhere near them.
“Around here?” his father asked confusedly. “Well, it’s everywhere around here.”
“I think there’s been a breakdown in communication… Where are you, exactly?”
“California. On the beach!” the mummy’s father yelled over the sound of rushing wind and scraping sand.
“Wait, what? When did you and mom go to California?” wondering why his parents, the most boring mummies ever, would go halfway around the world to sand sail, let alone doing all of this without telling him. They usually called and told him anything. The most inconsequential occurrence was usually cause for an impromptu phone call from his parents.
“This morning! It was a spur of the moment kind of thing. It’s so much fun! We never do this kind of thing.”
“Yeah, I know… But how - ,”
“Son, we really need to get back to the whole sand sailing thing we’ve got going on here. What did you need?” His father cut across him forcefully, but politely. It was something that only his father could pull off adequately.
“Right. Well, my air conditioner is not working, and I was just wondering who to - ,”
“Cool Ghoul’s Air Conditioning Emporium. They’re the best. You’re mom sends her love! Talk to you later, son.”
The mummy continued to hold the phone to his ear while the dial tone rang continuously. His parents were sand sailing the beaches of California while he was sweating out what little moisture remained in his poorly preserved body in his red hot tomb. He really needed to get his afterlife together.
But first things first, he needed to solve the air conditioning conundrum. He tried to think of someone else to call, someone who had good air conditioning in their tomb. There was one mummy that sprang forcefully to the forefront of his mind, but it was the last mummy he wanted to call and ask advice from: his ex-girlfriend.
He actually did not even have her telephone number in his cell phone anymore. The temptation to call and text her regularly was too great. He did have her number written on a small scrap of papyrus that he kept hidden under the heavy stone sarcophagus in his bedroom. That way it took a great deal of effort to get to, which was usually enough of a deterrent to stop him from contacting her. It had been a fairly effective method thus far, barring a few isolated incidents such as a drunken late night call two thousand years or so previous in which he hung up almost immediately, and a text only a few decades ago in which he contacted her on the grounds of asking which mummified cat nip was best for his mummified cat. She had always been so good with mummified animals.
As though his mummified cat had sensed that he was thinking about her, she let out a meow through her bandages that sounded like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard. The mummy realized that he had not fed her in the past year or two, and went to his cupboard, fanning himself continuously, and searched for cat food. He found a literally ancient can of Pharaoh's Choice Tuna and placed it on the counter. A pharaoh winked heartily on the faded label. The cat, which was named Giza, leapt upon the counter and began to purr. Giza's purr sounded a bit like gears grinding on a missed shift in a car with manual transmission, but it was soothing to the mummy nonetheless.
He smiled through his bandages, put down the piece of papyrus he had been fanning himself with, and began to search for a can opener. He soon remembered that can openers had not been invented until several millennia after he had been buried, and that he had never personally purchased one. He used a ceremonial dagger instead.
With the tuna open and Giza munching away in a satisfied manner with what remained of her teeth, the mummy began to fan himself again.
"I'm thinking of calling Elaine and asking her what to do about the air conditioning. Good idea or bad idea?" the mummy asked his cat. He was not entirely sure whether or not the cat could understand him, but he got the impression that it was quite cognizant of the world and its surroundings. He sometimes even got the impression that the cat had a better handle on the ways of the world and the afterlife than he did.
The cat looked up at him, chewing its ancient Pharaoh's Choice brand tuna, and seemed to consider the question. After a few moments, the cat swallowed, with what looked like great difficulty, and reached out its paws and extended its claws, dragging them across the smooth stone countertop until the scratches spelled out the word "DON'T".
That seemed to settle whether or not the cat could understand him, but he was not pleased with the response. "I'm going to call her anyways. I don't have to listen to you. You're my cat for goodness' sake. Even if you are sacred to me, I shouldn't have to take your advice on ex-girlfriends... Besides, I thought you liked Elaine?"
Giza began to scratch the countertops again, spelling out: "SHE'S THE WORST".
"Oh, stop it! You're being insufferable. She was not that bad! And I'm going to get you a dry erase boa
rd so you won't ruin my countertops."
Giza meowed so hard that sand poured from her ancient mouth. The mummy picked her up and placed her gently back upon the floor. He tossed the can of Pharaoh's Choice Tuna in the trash can, and made a mental note to remember to put the trash by the curb of the tomb that evening, as trash pickup was the following morning.
He made his way through the torch lit halls of his tomb. He scowled beneath his face bandages as he passed the torches. Without them, he would not be able to see anything at all in his tomb, but they had to be at least partially responsible for the heat. He entered his bedroom and walked toward his sarcophagus, making a brief detour to turn off his television which just so happened to be airing a commercial for Cool Ghoul's Air Conditioning Emporium. He cursed the television, hoping that it did not cause a literal mummy's curse because he quite enjoyed having a working television in his bedroom so that he could watch cartoons as he fell asleep, and turned it off. He reflected sadly how his inclination to watch cartoons as he fell asleep was one of Elaine's pet peeves during their relationship and he began to question again whether he should call her at all.
"This is not about getting back together, or anything about our relationship for that matter," he said under his breath in his now commercial-free bedroom. "This is about air