( Avon walks into a pet shop, carrying a cage with a
dead bird in it. Vila, complete with a thin, used-car salesman moustache, is making a lame attempt to hide behind the counter.
Avon: Excuse me... I wish to register a complaint.
( Vila doesn't move. )
Avon: Hello? ( Grits teeth. ) I'm talking to you, woman!
( Vila stands up, affronted. )
Vila: Whaddya mean "woman"?
Avon: I'm sorry - I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint.
Vila: Oh sorry, we're closing for lunch...
Avon: Never mind that, half-wit. I wish to complain about this parrot... the one I bought not
twenty-seven minutes and thirty-nine seconds ago... from this... particular... boutique.
( Avon puts the cage on the counter. )
Vila: Oh yes, the Cephlon Blue. Beautiful plumage. Er... ( Nervously. ) What's wrong with it?
Avon: I'll tell you what's wrong with it. It's dead. That... is what is wrong with it.
( Vila glances down at the parrot. He then looks at
it more closely. He walks round the counter and looks at it from the opposite angle. He walks back a few paces and looks at
it again from a distance, then he walks back around the counter and gives it one last cursory examination. )
Vila: So it is. You'll be wanting a refund then.
( Vila opens the till and returns Avon's money. )
Vila: Sorry for the inconvenience. Do call again.
( Avon accepts the money in a slight daze, then turns
and walks to the door. )
Avon: Well, you can't say Servalan didn't get some things right.