The funeral from hell (but I hope the lady went to heaven...)

Last year, around this time, I was contacted by a former colleague of mine to sing at a funeral in small town Oklahoma. The gig was on a day I didn't have to work, and offered a decent amount of pay (any pay is decent for me) so I took it. I didn't foresee that it would be the worst funeral ever.

Set list:
Ave Maria (Gounod)
On Eagles Wings
O Holy Night

Simple enough. I could sing all of those pieces in my sleep.*

Day of the funeral I show an hour early, as discussed with the organist and wait. I watch as the family (of what was sure to be a sweet old lady) saunter in. I sit professionally in my royal blazer and black skirt and keep a stoic face as I mentally make a grocery list. I anxiously check the clock now and again and keep an eye out for my colleague to rehearse the songs with.

The organist walks in with 10 minutes to spare and suggests we go to the choir room to run things through once. This is where feces hits the fan. The funeral director follows us in and asks for the Schubert, not the Gounod. (It's cool, just a totally different song... no worries). He has a copy of it, but it is about a third lower than any woman, mezzo or otherwise, should have to sing. Awesome.

He wants me to sing "O Holy Night" in French. Totally possible?

He does not want me to sing "On Eagles Wings" but a different hymn. One I've never heard of before. And could I please sing it at the front, next to the open casket, during the processional?

Before I can even comment that I can not translate to French on the spot, it is time for me to stand next to the cadaver and sing. At a Catholic funeral. Which means incense. Lots and lots of incense. So there I was, sight reading a hymn in front of a bunch of strangers next to a dead body with the alter boy circling around me swinging the incense like a 4 year old with his first yo-yo gasping for air and trying not to miss a note.** Just when I thought I was free and could taste normal air again he doubled back and hit me in the shin. He must have known I was thinking negative thoughts (about him) at a funeral and needed extra cleansing.

You'd think that would be the end of my woes, which it was for the most part. I don't feel like typing any more or I would tell you how the organist fell asleep and I had to throw a pencil at them to wake them up to play during communion. But for now I shall translate into French and tell you that I am le tired.

*Although I hope I don't, because that would be a waste of vocal energy.
**That was a run-on sentence, but ti deserved to be as it was a run-on experience.