Page 2

The girl and the manager both glanced at it and at the poster on the wall. "Yes sir," the latter confirmed. "It’s our second most popular flavour, right after Mall Occupier. We sell thousands of tins of it each year."

"Yes, you do," Kumaramangalam began, and at that moment there was a flash of lightning so bright it might have hurt his eyes if he’d still been alive. "And it’s your most expensive flavour, too – Premium, it says right here on this can. Well, I bought this thing after seeing your TV advert. You know the one I mean."

"Yes, sir. But we aren’t responsible for the ad. Hrawnk Ghrawk makes the advertisements and pays the TV stations to run it. We don’t have anything to do with it."

"Don’t interrupt. In the ad, the company claims that the meat they pack comes from the finest free-range humans, kept in the top-quality stockades and are certified disease-free by the Zombie Government, doesn’t it?"

The manager tugged his beard, and a fistful of it came off in his hand. He looked at the clump of hair in dismay. "I – yes, I believe so."

"It damned well is what they say. They also claim that the different flavours are from different farms, where humans are kept under different conditions and fed different diets. This one, for instance..." Kumaramangalam tapped the can. "This one claims to be from authentic gun nuts, raised under conditions where they are surrounded by guns all day, every day, and who do nothing except worship and play with their guns. If you doubt me, the poster there says the same thing."

The manager regretfully dropped the beard clump into the nearest wastebasket. "I’m sure you’re right, sir. But I don’t see what the problem is."

"I’ll tell you what the problem is," Kumaramangalam roared. The salesgirls were all leaning over their counters, staring with fascination at him, and even the other customer glanced his way across the store. Outside, the rain beat on the windows. "I bought this can, and when I opened it, what do I find?" He stared at the manager, unblinkingly, because his dead eyes did not need to blink.

"I’ve no idea," the manager replied.

"I’ll tell you. When I opened it, I found the meat was the exact same stuff as contained in the Stupid Average Citizen flavour." Kumaramangalam pointed, agitatedly, at the shelves of canned meat. "If you don’t believe it, open a can of Stupid Average Citizen flavour and check. I’ve eaten Stupid Average Citizen plenty of times before, and the meat is the same in every way."

"But how can you say that the meat is the same?"

"I’ll show you." Kumaramangalam held the can up before the manager’s eyes. "Open it and see for yourself. The Gun Nut meat is supposed to be seasoned with buckshot and marinated with gun oil. That’s right, isn’t it?"

"Uh...yes."

"So open this and show me where the buckshot is, and if you find a drop of gun oil I’ll eat this can, label and all. It’s just flabby Stupid Average Citizen, packed in brine. And you dare charge me for Gun Nut! Who do you think you are?"

"Perhaps it was a mix-up in production..." the manager ventured. "After all, we’ve had no other complaints."

"Maybe your other customers don’t have taste buds any longer, or functioning eyes for that matter." Kumaramangalam’s voice shook with anger. "But I’m neither tongueless nor an idiot."

"I’m sure you aren’t, sir. I just meant that maybe the factory made a mistake in packaging."

"Will you open another can of Gun Nut and check? Do you have the confidence in the product for that?" Kumaramanglalam shook his head with disgust. "Of course you won’t. And it wasn’t as though it only affected me, either. My girlfriend was with me, and she hates Stupid Average Citizen. She nearly threw up."

"I can assure you, sir..." The manager’s voice trailed off as he tried to think of something to assure Kumaramangalam.

"Doesn’t your store – your store, not Hrawnk Ghrawk – doesn’t your store claim it holds the consumer’s interests above all other considerations? Isn’t that what you say, day in, day out?"

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