I never even met my boss. All I knew was a disembodied voice that called and said, "We've got one at X," then abruptly hung up. Ghost Boss would call a lot, and at any time of day. Lack of regulation meant we were on call 24/7, with no limit on how much they could make us work. There were times I'd drive for 15 hours, come home, take a five-minute teaser-nap, and then Ghost Boss would send me on another 15-hour trek. All of this netted me a cool $9 per hour.
Which means your beloved grandmother was worth less than a meal at Chili's.
Our vans were old, battered, and dirty. They were under a permanent Amber Alert just on general principle. My windshield had a huge crack running the entire length, the transmission was dangling by a thread, the engine would continue to run after you took the key out, and you had to punch the dashboard if you wanted the wipers to work. I was actually pulled over by the cops on my last run because I had no light over the license plate. It hadn't gone out or anything -- it just wasn't there.
The inside of the van was even worse -- filthy, rusted out, and filled with discarded rubber gloves, dirty clothes, and blood-stained towels. This is where your loved ones go. On the other hand, I never heard any of them complain and would have run like hell if I did.