Buried alive in a box? You’ve got a real problem and not much time to solve it. If you’ve been embalmed, of course, your problems are over. You are more than dead. Not even a worm would eat you. You’re going to be more than dead for a long, long time.

But if you should find yourself in the situation of awakening in a coffin, first ask yourself how you know you’re in a coffin and not just some dark, horizontal refrigerator box. Do you remember being at a party where a lot of tequila was involved? Do you remember dying? If so, odds are you aren’t in a coffin. You’re in bed and you’re asleep and having a bad dream. Try waking up.

If waking up doesn’t work, try going to sleep. That will minimize your consumption of oxygen. You’ll live longer. And then die. Like everybody else. Just be glad nobody pumped formaldehyde into your veins. Rest in peace.

But you may be too excited to fall asleep. Who could blame you? It’s like your first day on a new job. You’re confused. You’re nervous. You want to do things right, but you haven’t received proper training. They’ve thrown you into a new situation, and you’ve hit the ground running. Or, in this case, lying down.

Relax. You’ve got enough oxygen for a couple of hours. You’ll wake up in time. Because really, you’re just dreaming this.

With a little luck you’ll dream you were buried with your cell phone. This is far more likely than being buried alive. Of course it’s also likely your battery’s dead. (That’s why they buried it with you! Ha, ha—just a little coffin humor. Have yourself a last chuckle.)

Of course if you may have been fortunate enough to have received a green burial. A green burial is just what it sounds like: they paint you green and pack you in four-leaf clover with a bottle of Irish whiskey under your arm to ease your transition to eternity.

Not really. A green burial is an organic burial. No embalming. No concrete vault. No polyester suit. No plastic buttons. No pocket change. If you’re in a casket, it’s plain vanilla pine or cardboard—no paint, no varnish, no liner, no bells, no whistles, no frills.

Also no cell phone, not unless it’s biodegradable.

But maybe they forgot it was in your pocket, and the battery is no deader than you, and you aren’t in a concrete vault six feet under, just four feet under and no vault, and in an organic cardboard casket in a cemetery in the shadow of a cell tower. Try calling 9-1-1, see if they believe you. (They won’t. And anyway, what are you going to give them for an address?)

Next try calling the most dependable person you know who owns a shovel or, better yet, a backhoe. Tap your head gently on the bottom of the coffin, and then harder and harder as you listen to the detailed instructions on how to leave a message. Make sure you mention that you’re leaving the message after the funeral.

Try texting. Text your entire list of contacts. And pray—pray that you aren’t doing this in your sleep. Which you probably are. And everyone you know is going to get the message. They’re going to wonder why they weren’t invited to the funeral.

But they’ll figure it out. And they will never let you forget. And for the rest of your life, you’re going to wish you were dead. And someday you will be—hopefully before you’re buried. But this time, be smart. Get buried green. 

Glenn Cheney is a writer, translator, and managing editor of New London Librarium. He can be reached at glenn@NLLibrarium.com