Article copyJust heard on a radio (yep, it means "no link" and "reporting from memory") that a distraught Parisian family, having all the details of Grand Ma's funerals organized perfectly (flowers, ceremony, personal Cousin Zeke, the whole shebang) was told that, since space is cruelly missing to store The Forgotten Ones at the morgue, their
When the daughter got there to pick up the package, it turned out that the content wasn't in conformity with the tag.
"I'm sorry but this person is not my Mother."
In the confusion and the stalking for grand ma's remains that followed, they eventually found out that the misplaced ancestor had already been buried in a mass grave in Thiais (if my memory is still what it used to be), a Paris suburb.
Consequently, they exhumed her in order to inhume her in her last (individual) dwelling.
Well, I guess you can't blame the Parisian bureaucracy and its Master for a few old farts lost here and there.
After all, they took care of the other factor of this crisis with diligence and competence.
The first municipal loser at hand can bury any piece of smoked meat in a random mass grave, but doling out 1,7 millions of Euros to bring a few tons of sand on the bank of the Seine to impress a rabble of snobs and lunar idiots on "reduced worktime rest" and permit them to tan their asses on a phony beach while "our elders" get their tickets silently in the surrounding and empty buildings, takes at least a genius elected Socialist.
The Delanoe doctrine: sand, games and damn the leftovers.
It's not mass graves but succinct and numbered individual tombs that helps a bit to get one's bearing. Not that it makes such a difference in the case in point though...Indeed.