Conspiracies of the third kind

Bill was not the sort of fellow who drank tea. He found it stuffy and bland. He now meticulously read the back of a small box of peppermint with a rapt expression. Passing housewives made nervous glances at the portly man blocking the small convenience store isle. They might approach to request he move, but found themselves disarmed before his fierce expression. This was the stuff of the wise and the rich. He reread the ingredients list for the 43^rd time. Peppermint leaf. Of course, he knew the box was lying. What of the string and little tags and those strange clothlike bags?

In a sudden motion he placed the box neatly back on the shelf with an excellent precision causing a nearby shopper to jump and a young lady to gasp. He, suddenly aware, gave sympathetic looks to both. “May wish to watch those nerves!” he woofed with a huff as he suddenly began his journey to the front of the store.

“I recommend the peppermint.”

He left the store empty hand. This was acceptable. There was a Wal-mart just down the street. They had better be more honest. They had better mention the packaging, or, come heaven or hell, someone may end up choking on it.