Telemarketer Fred Jonston of the Avery Warranty Company carefully considered his next mark.  Last week Jane had left a note for a callback on a Mrs. Tolsteck.  Evidently, she noted signs of Alzheimer’s, and his personal touch just might snag the sale.

Fred hit the auto dialer.  It rang five times, and then he got a frail voice.

"Hello?"

Fred dived right in.  "Ma’am, we are calling you about the warranty on your vehicle.  It is about to expire."

"Expire?"

"Yes, this could be a serious situation, and we need to correct it immediately.  Now, how many miles do you have on your vehicle and what’s the make?

"I, I don’t really know.  Wait, I’ll let my son talk to you."

"Really, ma’am that’s not necessary," but he already heard the phone being placed on the counter, and knew the old lady was getting her son.  This wasn’t going well, he thought.  He’d have to bull it through.

"Hello?" said a male voice.

"Who is this, is this Mr. Tolsteck?"

"No, I’m her son.  Who is this?"

Fred sighed.  "We’re calling about the warranty on your mothers car, and we need some information.  First the mileage."

"Wait a minute.  Are you the dealership?"

"We’re," and Fred mumbled something into the phone, which he was sure made no sense to the man on the other end of the line.

"I don’t understand."  Impatience and consternation were beginning to show in the man’s voice.  "My mother has no warranty on her vehicle.  Are you saying she has a warranty and she hasn’t been using it?"

"Well, we’d have to check.  Now, we’d like some information."

"Wait a minute.  I still don’t understand who you people are."

Fred was getting impatient with the mark, and didn’t like the course of the conversation.  He tried a supercilious response.  "Well, I just told you, if you’d been listening."

"Then perhaps you should listen to this," replied the man on the line in a stern voice.

Fred heard several words through his earpiece that sounded almost like Latin, something like "Entendo Artodoos Aduro Netori!"  Then, only a click as the man hung up on him.

Fred cursed under his breath.  He had lost the mark.

He thought for a few seconds and then transferred the entry to Shirley.  She would do better job if the son answered again. 

***

Fred dialed two-dozen more people, and made three sales.  It was actually going pretty well this morning, he thought, if maintenance would just fix that damn air conditioning.

He dialed another mark, and noticed sweat was now running into his eyes.  He grabbed a Kleenex and wiped his face.  Something had to be wrong.

Fred called out over to the adjacent cubicle.  "Hey, Jane, what’s the problem with the air conditioning?"

He could tell Jane was between calls, cause he heard a filing cabinet drawer being opened.  "It’s okay over here," she replied.

"Well, I’m burning up."

"Just a second and I’ll check.  Maybe the vent’s closed."

Now Fred knew something was drastically wrong.  He was literally sweating buckets, and then nothing.  He felt faint, and even his pants felt hot.  Fred now noticed they were turning brown and smoking. 

Then, he screamed.  Flames licked up his pants leg to his shirt.  Fred tried desperately to put them out, swatting at his shirt and pants.  The flames grew larger.

"Fred, what’s the matter?" called Jane as she ran around the corner to Fred’s cubicle.

Jane stopped at the entrance, put her hands to her face, and screamed.  Fred was engulfed in flames, his hair already gone, his body burning like a torch as if he were doused with gasoline.  His torso sat unmoving in the chair, turning black, disintegrating before her eyes into a smoking, charred mass.

The sprinklers finally came on, but it was too late for Fred.  All that remained were a few blackened bones and his work shoes, feet still mostly intact.

The business closed for three days during the investigation.  The police gave up, and the coroner wrote up the report as the first example he’d ever seen of spontaneous human combustion.