When i was doing my aprenticeship,at 16,i made a box and for some reason made the box the wrong size,foreman walks up, and says,i used to work for your uncle(undertaker) and he made coffins all one size to save money,and if somebody tall died and they couldnt fit them in the coffin,he would send me down to the council depot to borrow one of those big rubber hammers they use for bashing down paving slabs,a few heavy blows on the knees,and the dead persons legs would be broken,then all we did was push them up inside the trousers and turn up the trousers at the bottom.
I was absolutely horrified,but i made sure that everything i made was the right size from then on.
Six years later,the old foreman retired,and at his leaving party,he wished me the best for the future,just follow the family and youll be alright,so i asked him about my uncle,smashing the kneecaps of dead people,and that i had hardly spoken to him for 6 years.
He looked at me,and just said Son it was a joke,didnt you get the joke.
No says i,and ever since then havent taken things seriously.