Memorial

This one begins benign enough. Hardly the stuff of humor. Somehow in this cosmic mess I call a life the inconceivable occurs only to me leaving me to ponder my role in the universe and the meaning of my life. All that I describe is true, unembellished, and painfully factual.
There's a new guy we hired a couple months ago that I think is one of the best guys I've ever met. He's a mid 50's Bobby Duvall looking fella, with a great personality and a history of success. His mother passed away monday and the procession was today. I decided to go and in no way am I finding this situation humorous. I will only give you events from my humble perspective.
So begins the chain that led to this email.
I walk in to the memorial hall and am greeted by an employee of the hall. He directs me to the rear of the building and hands me a black cloth. I curiously looked at the cloth and figured it was a memorial card or something. As I mentioned this guy is successful so I figured this was a luxury item. I unfolded the cloth and realized it was empty. At the same time the guy that handed me this psssssst'ed me. I turned around and looked at him point at me then his head. I figured he was complimenting me on my full head of hair since he was completely bald. So I smiled, winked and gave him a thumbs up as a thank you. Now mind you I'm only about 5 seconds into this adventure. That's how long it took me to realize that I was in fact holding a yarmulke. So I slapped it on my head and it immediately falls off. I put it back on and it slides off again. My head is too big and the yarmulke is too small. So I figure as long as I look down, this thing will stay on my head.
I sit.
The guy I know is giving a wonderful memorial about his mother. Pausing for recollection and remembrance. Very well done. Now it's important to note it's about 12:30 and I came on my lunch hour. YOU GUESS IT. During one of the pauses my stomach lets out a roar that is still probably reverbing in that hall. I sit up straight hoping that stretching my stomach muscles will curtail the growl. Instead I catapult my beanie into the lap of the guy behind me. He hands it back to me and says something klingonish. ACK HOYT BUN SCHITZEL. I smile, wink and give him the thumbs up too.
Now the cantor.
This guy out of nowhere let's out this sound into the microphone that I would describe as a cross between willy nelson and fred durst. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (the E sound in THE). He gets my undivided attention. What he does next I cannot explain in words but let's just say this was a long and very comical song. A cross between a chant, clearing your throat and hocking a lugee. The best part is that he really can't sing and the gain on his mic is too high causing it to clip. The wierdest part is that the whole time he's doing this he's staring right at me. I'm not laughing or anything, but it was at this moment I decide to write this email. I smiled, winked at him and gave him a thumbs up as well.
I leave.