THE FUNERAL PLANNER

Chapter Seven Part 2: Operational Strategy - A Power Surge for Lights Out

Chapter Seven Part 2

It’s Friday morning. I’m hard at work in the Los An­geles apartment putting together my itemized “cus­tomized experience” package in preparation for my meeting with Victor Winston. I glance at the clock. I’ve got two hours and twenty-one minutes to go. I break down costs and services into levels of participation. I in­clude all the other amenities plus the life bio video, tal­ent, and services from outside vendors for customized lighting design, music and catering. I add a breakdown of costs for risk management, destination management and tribute security, not to mention specialized costs for tech­nology management for holograms, 3-D virtual reality, sensory theater, hi-tech attractions, emotion simulators, sports simulators and storytelling prompters, as well as adventure tributes that include hot-air balloons or cus­tomized tribute video games.

I’m preoccupied with all of this when I hear the ring of the phone, buried under piles of paperwork. I dig through and finally grab it.

“Lights Out Enterprises,” I say. “Experience designers for transitional states.”

“Hey, there, it’s Victor. I like the new tag line.”

“Thanks. I thought I should expand the brand after the Fosters’ dead marriage celebration. Are we still on?”

“Yes. But I’ve got to get to a meeting in Palm Springs earlier than I thought. So instead of meeting at the office, would it be all right if I drop by your place? It’s on my way.” “Sure. When?”

“Now? I’m about to park on your street.”

“How do you know where I live?”

“I do have your paperwork, remember? And I have a GPS. It isn’t difficult.”

“But I’m not done with the presentation.”

“That’s okay. Show me what you’ve got so far.”

I look at myself and glance around my apartment, which no longer had any semblance of personal living space, but of a start-up company. It’s 11:05 a.m. and I’m still in my two-piece flannel pajamas. My place is a mess. My suitcase lies open with clothes half in and half out from all the traveling. Paperwork, videotape cassettes and stacks of newspapers and business magazines lie all over the living room.

One wall is covered with a large hanging white board. On the board is a list of clients and underneath is the action plan and status of each one. Computers, laptops, fax machine, printer, scanner, PDA, digital camera, CD disks, boxes of software, PowerPoint presentations, reams of paper and other office supplies—everything a girl needs to run a company from home—fills my entire living space. I’d prefer Victor not see this state of affairs. On the other hand, getting a meet­ing with Victor has become increasingly difficult with all of his other obligations. I need his input now, and who knows when he’ll be able to reschedule.

“Can you give me ten minutes?” I ask.

“Sure,” says Victor. “And thanks for accommodating me.”

“No problem, see you in ten.” I hang up and move into overdrive. I hit the print button on my current work and rap­idly organize everything into messy little piles on my desk, couch and floor so the place looks presentable—well, sort of.

I try hiding all the cables on the floor so he won’t trip over them. Then I run into my bedroom, toss the duvet cover over the bed and throw on a pair of jeans and sneakers. The doorbell rings. My hair is a mess and I’ve forgotten that I’m still in my flannel pajama top when I answer the door.

Victor stands there, clean and dapper in a pink cotton shirt and Dockers. Everything about him is neatly put together.

He smiles and holds up a Starbucks cup and a newspaper. “I brought you some tea. Black, the way you like it...and a Fi­nancial Street Journal.