A different kind of parlor

There must be a reason I detest funeral parlors with a vengance.
I've just come back from a thirteen hour shoot at a very respectable funeraria, and besides being tired and in need of a shower, I have ghosts of past wakes floating in my head.
I'm still quite unsettled about the downstairs embalming room and coffins. I texted a friend that I thought I was the only one who got nauseated upon arrival. My mind can't forget the rows and rows of coffins sitting in the unused chapels.
Funerarias creep me out. Much more than they creep out the average person I think. I'm actually fine with attending wakes held at private homes. They seem much more personable, not so antiseptic, not so corporate. My grandmother's wake was held at our home and since her coffin was pinewood and made-to-order, she had to be laid out on a bed during the first two nights of her extended wake. And I was fine with that. It freaked out a few of my friends but, whatever.
It's different with funeral parlors...I don't know why. I just can't get used to those coffins lined up, just sitting there waiting for occupants. And the decaying flower smell brought about by the wreaths, bouquets and recycled candles...that is another reason for the psychological nausea. Somehow that smell is SO different from regular flowers that are close to wilting or have wilted. Yes, regular non-wake flowers. Yes, that makes no sense but I'm sticking to my belief that wake flowers have a different smell altogether.
As we packed up the lights and cameras, I passed by a chapel that had just been occupied only that afternoon. I tried not to look in as I passed but something made me look up. A picture of the deceased was on top of the coffin. It was of a young woman, not much older than me. I quickened my pace to the jeep. Instead of heading back up to help the crew with the remaining equipment, I stayed down at the parking lot until we were ready to leave.
I hate funerarias.