In a north Atlanta suburb, a crowd of well-dressed people gathers on the grounds of a funeral home. Some chat in hushed tones. A minister greets others as they enter and are shown to their seats. The parking lot is completely full and funeral home attendants direct newly arriving vehicles down a beautiful tree-lined adjacent street. The sound of reverential organ music can be heard coming from the sanctuary.
In the back of the funeral home, a telephone rings. A male associate in a dark suit answers in somber tones.
“Funeral and Interment of North Atlanta. May I be of service?... Yes, certainly.”
The associate looks at his scheduling book.
“Houston,” he says into the phone. “Yes, Sir... ‘An old friend.’ – But I’m afraid it is just about fifteen more minutes. We do offer floral arrangements, not too expensive I might add, for those too far awa-... Certainly, Sir. Traveling in on Interstate 20 from Birmingha-... Just give you the address. Yes, Sir. We are located at 1400 Northside Drive-”
Another telephone line rings.
“Sir, may I ask you to hold for just one moment, please?”
The assistant puts the call on hold and answers the second line. As he does, another associate comes in, carrying a small closed container marked “Autopsy.” He holds it up to the first man who simply points to a shelf.
The first associate now answers the second line.
“Funeral and Intestine... uh, Interment of North Atlanta. May I be of your services?... That’s right, Sir. Houston... Wheelchair? Yes, I think he did... I see. ‘An old friend.’ Right, right... ”
He almost loses his decorum.
“That’s right! In fifteen minutes! It sounds just too far-... Well, try then! Goodbye!”
The first associate looks at the second and shakes his head.
“This guy Houston’s not even been found and they’re pouring in from the boonies. I mean, this last guy was polite but definitely a ‘bona-fried’ redneck, you know what I mean?”
The second associate just shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
“And this guy from Alabama,” the first associate continues, pointing back at the blinking phone line. “No class.” He takes the original call off of hold.
“I’m so sorry to-... Ehhh, he hung up!”