👉 People are dying to give you their business. Literally. You just have to be open to serving them.

And now — the story behind why this advice matters:

My grandmother died 10 years ago. It was sad, of course, as the death of a loved one always is. She was a feisty lady, and righteously independent. 

But she had insisted on staying in her house following my grandfather’s death 15 years earlier, and we all felt a sense of (guilty) relief when the period of her life without him –filled with relentless doctors, restricted mobility, and loneliness– had drawn to a close.

As soon as I heard the news, I boarded a plane to Florida to be with my family, and help any way I could.

And I was quickly assigned a job — to plan the funeral.

Grandma was a devout Catholic, and while her mobility had kept her from attending mass for many years, she was still a valued member of her local church. So arranging a funeral mass was as simple as selecting the date, meeting with the priest, and picking out some readings. There’s a long-established blueprint for that sort of thing.

But what came after was dramatically harder…

My parents wanted to host a send-off at Grandma’s house directly following the funeral mass. They wanted everyone to be invited. They wanted to serve great food and delicious wine. They wanted Grandma’s house to be filled with friends and hospitality one last time.  

We all agreed that this would be the perfect way to honor her memory. (Like most Grandmas, her favorite hobby was feeding people.)

But I had a challenge… This party needed to come together in less than a week.

I immediately hit the Yellow Pages and began calling catering companies. And the response I received from all of them was: 

“You want us to do what? In how much time? And you have no idea how many guests to expect? Sorry, we can’t help.”

These companies were designed to service events that were planned weeks, months, or even years in advance. So even if they didn’t have a conflicting event on the calendar, they didn’t feel confident they could pull a party together for us on such short notice.

One of them went as far as (stupidly) questioning why I had waited until the last minute to plan this event. 

It’s a f*cking funeral, you turkey. “Grandma kicks the bucket” wasn’t on my schedule. 🤦

After smashing into wall after wall, I released a desperate plea for help on Facebook. And as if Grandma was carefully directing from the clouds, a childhood friend saw my post, and put me in touch with someone who was in the early stages of launching his catering business.

Bingo.

After one conversation with this guy, I felt immense relief. He had empathy, urgency, and a sincere desire to help. I met up with him at Grandma’s house the morning of the funeral, and by the time I arrived back after mass, with crowds of mourners in tow, he had transformed the place into a beacon of hospitality.

His team took care of everything. Preparing, serving, cleaning up, and constantly sweeping the house to make sure everyone had a drink in their hand and plenty of food to enjoy.

It was perfect. My family was finally able to relax, be fully present for all of our guests, and honor Grandma in a way that felt authentic.

And we were so impressed that we hired him to cater my father’s 60th birthday party a few months later… with plenty of notice that time. We recommended him to everyone we knew. And when the clubhouse at my parents’ upscale retirement community needed a new full-time catering partner, they put him forward with enthusiasm — and he won the bid.

Agreeing to cater one last-minute funeral galvanized this entrepreneur’s fledgling business beyond measure.

Earlier this week, a badass Drunk Business Advice reader named Sarah Kellogg Neff sent me this New York Times article about the evolution of funeral and memorial planning:

Sarah shared this with me for two reasons:

(I told you she's a badass.)

The central thesis of the article is that traditional memorials  –the kind that take place in religious buildings and funeral homes and cemeteries– no longer reflect the values of a growing segment of our population.

So when members of that segment die, their loved ones want to memorialize them in a way that represents how they lived.

But they’re met with barriers, because the industries that served these folks in life aren’t equipped to serve them in death — even if they desire to do so. This is the problem I faced a decade ago while trying to organize the “fun” part of Grandma’s funeral. 

The “fun” industry isn’t as nimble as one might think. They can’t move quickly enough to provide services to the death industry. And they’re missing out on a staggering advantage. 

Because the death industry isn’t going anywhere. Opening up one’s business to this kind of work can bolster revenue during traditionally slow periods and, perhaps more importantly, seed meaningful relationships in the communities they serve, leading to even more opportunities (like what happened with Grandma’s caterer).

And not to be crude, but folks drop mad cash on funerals. 

More than half of American adults have life insurance, but even in the absence of capital gains, families are motivated to spend handsomely on events which honor the lives of the people they loved the most.

When I was speaking to the sea of prospective caterers about Grandma’s funeral, I got a sense that they believed that accepting the job with us would require them to deliver their services at a discount, as a gesture of sympathy. Or they assumed that since we hadn't been “saving” for this event, like one would for a wedding or graduation or other other type of pre-planned celebration, our budget was probably puny.

This couldn’t have been further from reality. 

Unlike traditional events, we didn’t have the luxury of shopping around for the best deal. We weren’t looking to negotiate the finer points. We had other shit to worry about. And we were prepared to pay a premium for swift and thoughtful service. We were willing to pay more to simply not have to worry about the party.

And on the day of the funeral, my father went to every staff member and personally handed each of them an extra $100. Because they had made our lives dramatically easier during a high-stress period — and that was worth a bundle.

I hypothesize that those who operate outside the death industry feel that providing hospitality to funerals and memorials would be a rocky canoe-trip downmarket. That’s a mistake.

I believe “fun” businesses can make boatloads of money while simultaneously serving their community in a meaningful way.

And Sarah’s new company is helping them do it:

This is brilliant stuff.

If you want to connect with Sarah, shoot me a note. The company is fully funded, but she’s considering taking on additional capital to expand. She told me this week:

“There is nothing I’d rather be doing than uniting death care with hospitality.” 

As someone who has personally experienced this gap, I say:

Well done, Sarah. Well f*cking done.

Cheers! 🍻

-Kristin :-)

P.S. — I don’t just write Drunk Business Advice — I bring it to life on stage. And I’d love to speak at your next event (or funeral). Hit reply or click here to learn more.