Lucky Stars by Jane Heller

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    Without missing a beat, each person identified himself, humoring her, I assumed. Among the star attendees of the meeting were Frank Terwilliger, president and CEO of Fin’s Premium Tuna; Gregg Hillman, vice president of marketing for Fin’s; Louise Cardoza, vice president of product development for Fin’s; Peter Sacklin, vice president of Wylie & Wohlers Advertising; Julie Denton, creative supervisor of W&W; Susan Hardaway, W&W’s art director; and Larry Franzen, a copywriter at W&W. All professionals in their field. My mother wasn’t intimidated by that fact, either.
    “Thank you,” she said, stepping further into the room and planting herself next to an easel. It held a poster depicting a large can of tuna that appeared to be swimming in a body of water by virtue of its cute little fins. “First of all, I want to thank Mr. Beasley for responding so quickly to my letter of complaint.” She nodded at Corbin. “But most of all, I want to thank Mr. Terwilliger for allowing me to get a few things off my chest.” She nodded at him, too, but she accompanied the nod with actual finger pointing in his direction. He flinched slightly but let her keep talking. “I was visiting my daughter Stacey one afternoon and suggested I prepare us both lunch. I rummaged around in her pantry and found a can of Fin’s premium solid white albacore tuna packed in water, the brand our family has always preferred. As I was emptying the tuna into a bowl, prior to adding mayonnaise and other seasonings, I spotted a large bone. That’s right, Mr. Terwilliger, a bone. The kind of bone you don’t always spot because it blends in with the tuna, color wise. The kind of bone you can swallow accidentally. The kind of bone that can become lodged in your throat and cause you to choke. The kind of bone that can kill you, Mr. Terwilliger.” She let her words sink in, for effect, the way she always did with me. “Now, I don’t mind telling you I was furious at Fin’s, because I trusted your brand, was a loyal customer, stayed with you even though you were the last tuna company to come out with single-serving-size cans. In other words, I believed in Fin’s and yet this is how you reward me? By nearly killing me?” I glanced around the table to see if there was eye rolling, snickering, squelching of laughter, but everyone was riveted, apparently. Either that or they were asleep with their eyes open. “However,” she went on, “after my tour of the cannery today, after inspecting your operation, after observing the safety and health features you have in place, after watching the women slaving away on that assembly line—those good, decent, hardworking women—I have reached the conclusion that your quality control is what it should be and that the bone I found was an honest mistake and that I can probably make a tuna sandwich for my daughter without fear.” She paused again, this time to press her hand to her heart and heave a deep sigh. “Surely, you can understand how mothers strive to protect their children,” she said, regrouping, gaining momentum. “It’s our God-given impulse. Our biological need. We can’t live with the thought that the contents of a can of tuna fish might harm our loved ones. We must have a sense of security when it comes to our food. We must have a sense of confidence in all our consumer products. We must and we should and we will, if I have anything to say about it!” She stopped to raise her fist in the air, a Jewish Erin Brockovich. “But the person with the power to fully restore my confidence in Fin’s is Mr. Terwilliger. So, I’m going to shut up now and let him have the floor.”
    There was silence, nothing but dead air for about a second or two. And then, before Mr. Terwilliger could utter a single syllable, the executives at the table applauded loudly, wildly, as if my mother had just delivered the State of the Union Address. One of them—I think it was the ad agency’s creative