Syrup (9 page)

I haven’t been awake long enough to be having this conversation. “Uh, well, yeah, I guess.”

“Reversing
gender stereotypes doesn’t
eliminate
them,” 6 says, tossing the bacon. “You just create a whole new set of prejudices. The fact is, if you weren’t sexist it wouldn’t matter whether a man or a woman cooked you breakfast.”

I try to think of a reply, but everything that springs to mind is inflammatory. While I stand there dumbly, 6 eyes me, waiting for my next conversational blunder.

“Can I make you a coffee?” I say.

While I’m in the shower, I look out the tiny window and watch people going to work. It’s fun and somehow liberating to be able to stand there naked and stare at people. I watch for about ten minutes, and then I realize that in their cars and business suits, everyone looks pretty much the same.

6 signs me in at Coke and I get a special CONTRACTOR badge. I spend most of the trip to the 14th trying to work out how to pin the badge onto my shirt before realizing it’s meant to clip on to my tie.

The doors open and I’m hugely pleased to see that the first thing to greet me is a Coke machine. Around it, giant framed Coke ads litter the walls, so densely packed that some eager but misguided executive must have once said, “I want to see every ad we’ve ever done up there.”

6 leads me down a corridor (red carpet) to a small dark office. It’s bare apart from a desk, an ergonomic chair and a computer with a pile of instructions. I study it for a second, then look back at 6, who is standing in the doorway like a gunfighter surveying a saloon. “Good luck, Scat.”

“Thanks, kid,” I say, and if she hadn’t closed the door so fast, I would have tipped her a wink.

6/25/84

 

Hi Steve,

 

The latest results on New Coke are unbelievable! Can’t wait until we get this one in front of the board.

 

We’ve completed the market research, where we let people compare Coke and the new strain (from unmarked cups, of course). I don’t want to preempt the presentation, but it looks like FIVE OUT OF SEVEN prefer the new taste!

 

I think this is going to be big, Steve. It’s going to blow Pepsi off the map.

 

JJ

1/12/85

 

Steve,

 

Thanks for your help on Friday. We have to wait for the final decision, of course, but I think you’re right—the board’s going to OK it.

 

I am concerned about Will’s reaction. Sure, everyone’s real attached to the brand, but Christ, when five out of seven prefer the taste of the new strain, we’d be crazy not to change the formula. I mean, taste is taste, right?

 

JJ

10/31/85

 

JJ,

 

I was certainly disappointed to hear of your resignation. Unfortunately, though, I would prefer it if you didn’t list me as a reference on your CV.

 

You know how much we lost on New Coke, JJ, and people want to know how we could have let it happen. They want to know how our people could forget what marketing was. I’m barely covering my own ass here.

 

Hope there are no hard feelings. Best wishes for the future.

 

Steven Blackland

6 has some sandwiches sent to my office for lunch, which is disappointing because I was hoping she’d take me out somewhere, plus I don’t really like cucumber. But I guess she has power lunches with important people to attend to.

She finally reappears at eight, long after I’ve become heartily sick of browsing Coke research files and instead clocked the fastest time for Minesweeper. When the door opens I surreptitiously Alt-F4 it.

“How did you do?” 6 asks. Her voice is steady but her hand, I notice, is gripping the door handle tightly.

So I tell her: I have sore eyes, a stiff back and no ideas for an ad.

Woken up by Tina arriving home at 5 A.M. with boy. Tried to go back to sleep but distracted by noises from Tina’s bedroom. Wondered what this means about 6’s sexuality. Couldn’t tell.

Locked in tiny office at Coke all day again. Developed pathological hatred of Minesweeper. No ideas for ads. 6 disappointed.

Worked late, got take-out. Fell asleep on sofa while 6 watched
Letterman.

Discovered on computer that they once actually released Coke-flavored cigars. Spent an hour checking this, certain it must be a joke. It’s not. They really did.

Highlight of day: 6 in huge fight with marketing guy outside my office. Peered through blinds and saw hysterical young guy in blue shirt and Mickey Mouse tie: apparently thinks 6 is leaving print runs too late for summer campaign. 6 controlled but dark eyes very scary. Quickly shut down Minesweeper and went back to work. Still no ideas.

Worked hard all morning, no ideas. Depressed, forced down cucumber sandwiches, played Minesweeper to relax. Played badly and deleted game from computer in rage. Regretted within hour.

People quiet in corridors at Coke, tight lips, grim expressions. Occasionally they peer in my window. Since no one’s meant to know I’m here, I guess they’re wondering who the hell I am.

“Scat,” 6 says carefully. We’re having Indian tonight, and it’s arranged on the carpet in little plastic containers. “I can’t help but feel that we aren’t making much progress on the ad.”

“Well, I’ve got one idea—”

6 sighs. “We’re not going to have a giant beach ball crush New York. It’s creative, but it’s not going to sell product.”

This is true. “Okay, okay.”

“You must have found
something
in the files. There has to be
something.”

6 is thinking about Ogilvy. David Ogilvy wrote what many consider to be the best advertisement ever created, and it came from research. The client was Rolls-Royce, and Ogilvy found a line in an engineer’s report that he stuck into the ad pretty much verbatim: “At sixty miles an hour the loudest noise in this Rolls-Royce comes from the electric clock.” It’s catchy, it’s creative, and it’s true. So it works. But it’s damn hard to duplicate.

“6,” I say steadily, “I’ve been through more Coke history than I knew existed. If anyone ever uses the phrase ‘secret formula’ within my earshot, I’m going to slap them. But there’s nothing right for an ad.”

6 looks at me silently for a moment. “I don’t want to put any more pressure on you, Scat,” she says, “but we have until five P.M. tomorrow to come up with something.”

“Well you know,” I say, a little exasperated, “I haven’t exactly heard a wealth of great ideas from you.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Scat,” she says, which immediately makes me suspicious. “Ideas aren’t my strength. They’re yours. My strengths are in development, negotiation and management. Which you don’t have, or you’d be worth three million dollars right now.”

I open my mouth but fail to fill it with a snappy reply. Poor management skills, perhaps.

6 says, “That’s why I chose you, Scat. We have complementary skills.”

“I see.” I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted, so I settle for a little of each. “So you’re relying on me to come up with the greatest ad in the history of marketing.”

“Yes,” 6 says, widening her eyes. I know by now that she does this just to suck me in, but I take a delicious moment to bathe in them, anyway.

“And unless I come up with this ad by close of business tomorrow, you have to go with the old campaign. Spend your next six months implementing other people’s ideas.” I allow myself a little smirk at this scenario, because, finally, I am in a power position over 6.

6 is silent for a long moment. “Actually,” she says, “that’s not quite true.”

“The thing is, it’s too late to go with the old campaign.”

I blink. “Too late?”

“Yes.” 6 bows her head, her midnight hair sweeping forward. “The campaign’s design calls for some specialized graphic work, and I haven’t hired anyone to do it. There’s no way to get it ready for summer now.”

“I see.” I choose my words very carefully because it’s important to get this right. “So are you telling me that unless I, Scat, come up with an ad by tomorrow afternoon, Coca-Cola isn’t going to have a summer campaign?”

To her credit, 6 also spends a few moments checking through this. Because, like I said, it’s important to understand our position. If Coke has no summer campaign, it will lose maybe 50, maybe 100 million dollars in sales, its stock will fall through the floor, the CEO will resign, PepsiCo will make millions, and television networks all over the world will lose one of their biggest customers. I’d guess that 6 doesn’t particularly want to be remembered as responsible for that.

“I made a decision, Scat. I could begin implementing the campaign immediately, or I could take a risk on developing a new campaign from scratch.” She shrugs fractionally. “I decided to take a risk.”

“6,” I say gently, “I don’t want to be pessimistic here, but there is a chance I won’t have anything by tomorrow afternoon. What happens then?”

6 takes a long sip from her 7 UP “I place a call to the CEO to inform him of the situation and tender my resignation. Then I’m unemployed and no marketing manager in America will ever hire me again.”

She looks at me with dark, surprisingly calm eyes. I try to think of something sympathetic and consoling to say, because suddenly I really feel bad for her.

Then 6 says, almost gently, “Or hire you.”

I have a deep, solid sleep so I wake completely refreshed Friday morning.

I keep repeating this statement over and over in my head, but it refuses to work. It’s two in the morning and I can’t sleep for nuts. It’s amazing how mortal fear can do that to you.

At three, I get up and nuke myself a milk drink, watching my fingers shake as I push the buttons. I take it back to the sofa and drink it slowly, trying to avoid thinking about how my career could be over in fourteen hours. I realize very quickly that it’s impossible to deliberately avoid thinking about something, so I cleverly try to avoid thinking about elephants instead. Unfortunately, my brain works out that the best way to avoid thinking about elephants is to think about how my career could be over in fourteen hours, and at 3:30 I still can’t stop shaking.

The worst part is that now I’m standing with my foot in the bear trap, it’s obvious. It’s the biggest bear trap in the world. It wasn’t even hidden; it practically had neon signs. 6 said,
“Scat
, do
you mind moving your foot so I can put this huge, neon-lit bear trap underneath it?”
and I said,
“Okay, sure thing, 6.
”

I’ve been seen at Coke.

I can’t believe I let that happen.

The textbooks wouldn’t put this in a “Marketing Blunders” box: this will be reserved for “Marketing Catastrophes.” Given that I’m currently fielding entries in both categories, I could be a shot for “All-Time Marketing Fuckwits,” too:
After losing Fukk, Scat was apparently involved in the failure of Coca-Cola to launch a summer advertising campaign. Insiders at Coke say—

Out of sheer exhaustion, I finally fall asleep around four. So I’m particularly distressed to be woken by a boy sitting on my head at 4:20.

“Whoa!” the boy says. “Sorry dude, didn’t see you there!”

“Tim-
othy,” Tina chides from the kitchen, giggling. “Sorry, Scat.”

Choking with rage, I spit, “God—damn—stupid—”

“Cool it, dude,” Timothy tells me, backing off. Tina collects him and steers him toward her bedroom. “What’s
his
problem?”

“He’s a
marketer
,” Tina explains as she shuts the door.

I’m so inflamed I can’t even imagine sleeping. I get up and wander around the apartment for a while, swinging my arms and taking deep breaths. Gradually I feel myself returning to a state of calm, at which point Tina and Timothy begin a muffled giggle-fest. Then I get so mad I have to sit down fast.

At five, I’m seriously considering just getting the hell out. This is a particularly idiotic plan, given that it actually guarantees the ruin of my career, but I almost do it anyway.

Finally, at 5:20, just thirty minutes before I have to get up, I work out how to get to sleep. I march into the bathroom and flip up the toilet seat.

Just looking at it, I feel calmer. When I return to the sofa, I slip effortlessly into the deepest, most intense half hour’s sleep of my life.

FOR A PRODUCT THAT KILLS ITS CUSTOMERS, THIS IS PRETTY EASY. FOR ONE THING, YOU ONLY NEED TO CONVINCE PEOPLE TO START BUYING. BUT THE BEST PART IS THAT YOU GET TO DEFEND THE ACT OF SELLING A PRODUCT YOUR CUSTOMERS CAN’T STOP BUYING BY CLAIMING THEY HAVE FREEDOM OF CHOICE. BEFORE EACH MARKETING CAMPAIGN, PRACTICE THE LINE: “IT IS NOT THE POLICY OF OUR COMPANY TO DICTATE THE LIFESTYLE OF OUR CUSTOMERS.”

The bus ride to Coca-Cola is strained, but in the elevator 6 tries to give me a little pep talk. “Scat, if anyone can do this, you can. You need to look at this as a great opportunity.”

“Sure,” I mutter, frowning at the little glowing floor numbers. “A great opportunity to ruin my life.”

“I’m sorry,” 6 says, and maybe she does look a little contrite. “When I dragged you into this, I didn’t stop to think how you would be affected. I haven’t been fair with you.”

It’s hard to argue with someone who agrees with you, so I settle for a dark look.