"What do you think?" The salesman pirouetted to face Mr Marks and spread his arms wide.
"It's ... ." Mr Marks took a deep breath. Outside, the bomb shelter has not seemed that impressive - just a jumble of corrugated metal shapes welded to each other at right angles. But, when he had accepted the salesman's invitation to 'take a look inside', Mr Marks had to admit it was, "Very nice. Yeah. Very nice."
"Oh, it's a beauty alright!" The salesman leaned close enough that Mr Marks could smell the stink of cheap cologne and dry cleaning fluid. "Made right here in America to protect American citizens." He banged on the metal wall of the shelter. "Hear that? That's Pittsburgh steel, that is. You can't do better than that."
Mr Marks hesitated. He was one of those people who could tell when he was being taken for a ride, but had very little in the way of resistance to high-pressure salesmanship. Somehow Mr Marks had to bring the conversation back under his control. He took a deep breath. "Sure. But what about living spaces. I mean, I've read the government leaflets, and they say we could be in one of these for a long time."
"Say no more!" The salesman started around the bomb shelter, showing off its features. "See what we got. There's your huge living space right here. There, your pantry. We got a stove and sink just for the lady of the house. Separate bunk rooms for when you need some 'alone time' away from the kids." The salesman waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Got to repopulate the world somehow - right?" He paused to draw breath. "And, of course, our deluxe model comes with a generator and motorised air filter."
"Well, I've only got a budget of - ," Mr Marks began. The salesman stopped him.
"Budget? When we're talking about the safety of your family during a noo-cular war? This will add to the value of your property!"
Mr Marks began to wish he had brought Martha - his wife - with him. She had a wonderful knack of being able to cut through any nonsense. But he hadn't, and Mr Marks was regretting it. "You see," he tried to say.
The salesman clapped his arm firmly across Mr Marks' shoulders, pulling him close. "I can see your dilemma. But, let me tell you, I got one of these myself. That's how much I believe in this product. And I know you want to do what's right. How can I get you to walk out of here, knowing that you just bought your family a future?"
Mr Marks looked around the interior of the shelter, hooping he could find something - anything! - to break the salesman's spell. There was a display of framed posters, each one extolling a benefit of buying a bomb shelter. One caught his eye in particular. "Could you tell me about the ... um ... lifetime guarantee?"
The salesman's eyes were blank, like a shark that had just scented blood.
