Today is Talkative Thursday. The day starts with Doc talking to his patients during his office hours. Around lunchtime, we can enjoy the Good Cop, Best Cop players who'll use their most convincing words to make others change their minds. We'll finish the day with the romantic words at the Poetry In Motion Contest. But first, I need a word with Doc.
"What would the financial value of G.O.D. be? If you would have its formula, if you could produce the drug, how long would it take you to sell it and earn, for example, half a million US dollars?"
Doc lifts a suspicious eyebrow: "Did you find the formula?"
"Don't answer my question with another question, please. This is a matter of life and death. Imagine I have a container full of little bottles. The medicine looks like water. Each sip gives instant success at everything you do, and you piss on even the most advanced doping control. How would you make money with G.O.D.? What's the marketing plan? How long would it take you to earn half a million US dollars?"
Although Doc worked hard to find the formula, he never prepared the next steps: what to do with it when he finally got it. He says: "Time. It needs time. It needs to be tested…"
"It's already tested, and it works. I have it right here. Look."
I take three capsules from my pocket and show them to Doc.
"Where did you get them? Have you already tried it? How does it work? How long does the effect last?"
I take a deep breath: "Doc, please! Don't answer my question with other questions. How long does it take to make half a million with it?"
I put the three capsules back in my pocket. There's no need to distract Doc's attention. Of course, it's not G.O.D. that I have under my thumb. The capsules contain OC-V 340 (a.k.a. Tumble Tornado), a strong and immediately effective sleeping gas. Last night, I looked into the barrel of Luigi's loaded gun. Others play this game by their own rules. From now on, I'm prepared.
Doc is back in calculation mode: "There's direct marketing and there's indirect marketing. Direct marketing is when we go out to meet one or more players of upcoming Games and convince them to buy our product. We'll recoup our investment against future profits. Indirect marketing is when we sit and wait until a patient comes in who's interested in buying our solution for her problem."
Doc falls quiet. He's thinking. I try to make him think aloud by dropping a suggestion: "Direct marketing gives more, better and faster results?"
"It's not a matter of if-if. It's a matter of and-and. When we want to make money fast, we have to use every tool available. Selling G.O.D. for half a million is easy: find someone who can earn a million by using the drug. But we don't find them here. The players of the European Games will not invest in success enhancers because they don't make any financial profit if they win. It's probably easier to use the drug yourself and win your 500K."
I see the problem. A good salesman always looks at the product through the eyes of his clients. Direct marketing means «follow the money»; it only works when the one you talk to has the money you want. If there's no money to win, nobody wants to pay for the costs.
"And how about indirect marketing?"
Doc knows about that too: "Indirect marketing means «looking for trouble». Healthcare is a good example: if you have two options, an expensive operation or a quick death, you will even sell your grandmother to get the operation. If the problem is big enough, you'll pay any price for the solution.
» The strategy of modern indirect marketing starts with causing problems, so you can sell the solution later. Most advertising and commercials work that way. Take wrinkles; they are a gift from Mother Nature, Her reward for living many years and facing many problems. Wrinkles are like a gold medal for life experience, visible to everyone, so they can treat you with the respect you deserve. What do our greedy companies think of wrinkles? They see an opportunity to make money with them. First, they brainwash the public: «it's impossible to live with those ugly wrinkles». Then, they offer to solve those horrible self-inflicted problems. No. They solve nothing; they sell you a treatment, which you'll have to repeat often. Hardly effective products sell much better than efficient solutions…"
Doc is right. Every advertising company is guilty of the same crime: making people unhappy. Creating problems isn't against any law, of course, and they also offer the solution, available for everyone with money. That's why money is the most wanted product on our planet: with money, you can solve every problem, except poverty…
"So we need to find someone who has a problem that can be solved with G.O.D.?"
"Or we have to find someone who can make more money after we sold him G.O.D… Both tactics will work. How long will it take to earn half a million dollars? It takes until we find someone who needs G.O.D. plus five additional minutes to turn him into a Believer."
Now it's my turn to think. The players from my country will not get any money for winning, but my country thinks these European Games are important; sending the complete field unit of our Secret Service isn't cheap. Doc is right: the players won't pay for G.O.D., but the countries might be interested. There's another problem I need to solve: before I can sell G.O.D. to them, I'll have to find it. My bluff was good enough to convince Doc, but for half a million, anyone else wants proof before she pays for the Real McCoy.
There's only one conclusion to all this: "If we want a happy ending, I have to infiltrate in the Games. I have to become a player, Doc."
Doc smiles: "You can't. The organization has a list of competitors. If you're not on the list, you can't enter."
Somebody knocks on the door: "Can I enter?"
Apparently, he's on the list.
A patient. Office hours. First the job, then the pleasure.
"Yes, please. Come in. I'm in a wheelchair with a broken leg. Opening the door is a bit complicated for me."
The man entering is around twenty years old, with short, dark hair. His Slavic eyes show a lot of red that doesn't belong there. This is a man with problems.
"I have a problem."
"That's why people come here. I'm a doctor. I solve problems. What's your name?"
"Gregor…"
The boy looks at me, not sure if he can have a confidential conversation with Doc while I'm listening. Doc puts him at ease: "Bugs is my assistant. Everything you say will remain confidential. What's your problem?"
"They say… You're the dope doctor, right? That's what they say. No! No. I'm not here to get more. I'm here to get rid of her. I mean… I need her love, but… The team needs me too. I will be there. I will fight. I will break down that wall. But if you run your tests on me and they find out… I try to change. They should give me a chance. This can't be the end."
I understand nothing of what the boy tries to say, but Doc seems to be a better listener. He lowers his voice and speaks slowly, almost hypnotically, to make his patient relax: "Why don't you start with giving her to me? Your precious. The angel who stole your heart. Do you have her with you? I'm sure you do. You are so attached to her, you won't go anywhere without her. That's alright. You can give her to me. I'll take care of her. When the moment is here, after the fight, you come to me again, and she'll be here, waiting for you, still loving you. You can trust me. I'm a doctor. Do you have her in your pocket? Take her out. I won't hurt her. That's right. Give her to me. That's it. I will treat your angel for you. Don't worry. It will all work out fine. And now the second part, the part where you have to get her out of your system. I want you to roll up your sleeve. We're going to give you an injection. Nothing to worry about. It won't hurt. It's just something to make you pass the dope control. We don't want anybody to find out about your relationship with your little angel, right? Don't worry. She's still loving you. I understand. All that pressure and all that attention. You never asked to be here, at the European Games. It's just too much, for anyone. Your little angel is the only one who understands, the only one who helps you. What was that fight you were talking about?"
"Pillow Fight Tournament. I'm the captain of the Belarusian team. If they find the Angel Dust in my blood, they disqualify the entire team. We can't have that, can we?"
Doc keeps his confident smile up while he prepares the needle: "No, we can't have that. Don't worry. They won't find anything."
Doc cleans the spot and injects the liquid into the boy's vein: "Count from twenty back to zero, please."
"Twenty… nineteen… twelve…"
"I've put him asleep, Bugs. Take the duct tape and tie him to his chair, please. Put a wide piece of tape on his mouth too; we don't want him to scream when he wakes up."
While I do as I'm told, Doc explains: "This boy runs on Angel Dust, a.k.a. Phencyclidine, or PCP. I noticed it when he came in: staggering, unsteady gait, slurred speech, bloodshot eyes, and loss of balance. I immediately suspected he was competing in one of the Games. PCP induces feelings of strength, power, and invulnerability. A pillow fighter would have been my guess. It seems my first impression was correct. He had no alternative but to come to me, knowing he would never pass the dope test tomorrow morning. That would mean disqualification for his team, and an enormous problem for himself at their return; the Belarusian authorities won't be friendly for anyone who brought so much negative publicity to their country."
"What are we going to do with him?", I ask.
Doc hasn't thought about it yet: "I don't know. As a doctor, I think I have to do something. I don't want this kid to walk away, not while he's having the problems he's having. He has to kick the habit. The first step is detoxication. He won't like it, but as long as he's tied to his chair, he can't hurt himself, and he can't drug himself anymore. We can empty the broom closet and keep him there for a while. He'll be asleep for a couple of hours. The Good Cop, Best Cop Contest starts soon. We'll need to attend. After that, we'll have about an hour before Poetry In Motion starts, enough time to check on him and decide what to do. It will give us some time to think. Don't you agree?"
I don't need so much time to think. I think about what we discussed earlier, about infiltrating the Games as a player. This boy is only a few centimetres taller than I am. I think that, with some inside heels in my shoes, nobody will notice the difference. His Slavic eyes, his wider cheekbones, his paler skin and his dark hair are all inside the disguise-kit in my room. I think I might avoid that the members of the Belarusian Pillow Fight team become the biggest losers of the European Games. I think…
"I think you're right, Doc. We have a lot to think about, I think. I think I have a good idea too."
I empty the broom closet and roll the inseparable couple inside; Gregor and his chair, at cupboard love.
* * *
Today's Game, «Good Cop, Best Cop», is a classic. Already in 1948, George Orwell introduced the Two Minutes of Hate, in his novel «1984». This pastime is still one of the favourite sports in bars, at parties, and at other places where people meet socially. After saying hello, asking how we are, and discussing the weather, what do we all do? We talk to each other about 'those people up there'. All our problems are ignored by the ones we trusted to solve them. We even have great ideas to solve those problems, but those hotshots refuse to listen to us. Well, they'll listen now. Every country has its debater. Each gets Two Minutes of Hate, and 750 million people listen to what she has to say.
Every viewer can log in on a special website and give hor opinion about each individual speaker, voting from -2 (I don't agree at all) via -1 (I'm not convinced), 0 (neutral) and 1 (quite good) to 2 points (I fully agree). The opinions will be averaged per country. All the votes together will decide the final ranking and the winners of the medals.
Democracy finally rules.
George Orwell would be proud.
There are several styles of speech. First, there are the ones who don't have real arguments; they limit themselves to variations of "You stink, Mister President.", but this is not «Bad Cop, Worse Cop» so they hardly score points. The second style comes from speakers who only criticise: "You are wrong, Mister President", but they don't have any solutions, so they don't score high among the neutral spectators. Finally, there are debaters with ideas about how the problem should be solved. They all enter the top 20. Their final ranking comes from the structure of their speech, the passion of their performance, and the subject they speak about.
The Good Cops have a positive speech, and the Best Cops have the power to change the world with their solutions: our leaders don't watch this show, but their voters do, and they will respond.
The bronze medal is for Bulgaria. Their Best Cop is a grandmother. She feels responsible for the future of her children and grandchildren, who grow up in a world where violence gets all the attention. She blames Mister Murderdochter, the owner of the media, in her speech:
"You keep telling me I have a right to be informed. You keep telling me you don't make the news; you just tell the world what happened. What you're really telling me is that you don't feel responsible for what you do. I agree, Mister Murderdochter: you are an irresponsible person.
» You are not a violent terrorist who wants attention; you are a millionaire who sells us all the violence you can find. You are not Mother Teresa of Calcutta who helped the poor and homeless; you are the God of Media who decides that winners of Noble Prizes are not included in our right to be informed.
» You make money with advertising, by repeating the message «buy this». You benefit because you know how suggestible people can be. So why do you show us only bad news? Do you expect us to follow your examples of hate and greed? Imagine you'd broadcast one childbirth for every killing you present us. Imagine you'd show us two men kissing each other, to compensate for every time we see two men fighting. Would that be ridiculous? The killing and the fighting are ridiculous, Mister Murderdochter. Thanks for brainwashing us. Every terrorist attack loses its meaning without the completely free publicity campaign you run for them. Spend that attention on people who make others happy. Take your responsibility in making our world a safer place. Create hope instead of despair.
» Terrorism killed 25.000 people last year. In that same year, 800.000 depressed people committed suicide, for losing faith in your world of greed, war and egoism. That's 32 times more. Show 32 times more positive news. Leave the violence for the remaining 3% of your newspapers.
» My daughter suffers from depression. My grandchild killed himself. I feel responsible for my family. I will no longer be a victim of your support of criminal activities.
» I accuse you. I accuse you of accessory to terrorism, for spreading their message of hate. I also accuse you of accessory to causing the depressions of 5% of humanity and the suicides it led to. I accuse you of supporting acts of violence. I accuse you of ignoring acts of altruism because broadcasting violence gives you more financial profit.
» You have the right to be informed. I inform you I won't read your newspapers anymore. When your news starts, I will turn off my TV. I do that until you take responsibility and inform me of good news. I declare you guilty of irresponsible behaviour. You're sentenced to be ignored. I have only two minutes to hate you, but I hope it inspires others to follow my example.
» You've turned me off, Mister Murderdochter, so now we turn you off."
She gets a standing ovation from the 16.000 in the Stade Francis-Le Blé. Tomorrow, her speech will be the headline of every serious newspaper.
The silver medal is for a businessman from Spain. He looked at the Spanish sun and saw an opportunity. Then he looked at the Spanish president and saw a problem.
"I, and every Spanish citizen and company with me, know how much we pay for our electricity during the next 60 months. When we decide to invest that same amount in solar panels, our Spanish sun will generate more electricity than we use. We can recoup our investment in five years, and after that, we'll have free electricity, forever.
» Imagine the benefits of that simple idea, Mister President:
» 1) We'll generate lower costs of living for every household in our country.
» 2) We'll generate lots of jobs in production, installation and maintenance of solar panels.
» 3) We'll generate jobs in construction, as we'll need 'batteries', barrages for artificial lakes; we use solar power during the day to fill the lake with water so we can use the water power for the electricity we need during the night.
» 4) We'll produce so much electricity that we can export it, and we'll save on importing oil, two tremendous benefits for our national economy.
» 5) We'll lower the contamination and production of CO2 spectacularly.
» 6) And all this doesn't cost even one cent of tax money; the consumers finance the investments.
» With this idea, we can do our environment a big favour, we can do our national economy a big favour, we can do our job market a big favour, and we can do our own financial situation a big favour.
» There's only one problem: we'll produce solar energy during the day, and we'll use part of our production during the night. We need to buy back our electricity, at the same price we get for what we produce.
» But your new law on solar energy, Mister President, gives us hardly anything for the solar energy we produce, while you charge us much higher prices when we buy it back. You steal the energy of your people and put the profit in your own pocket.
» Our governments should motivate us to do the right thing. We trusted our leaders to solve our problems. Solar power is the right thing. Solar power solves many problems. You are not solving problems, Mister President; you ARE the problem…"
Massive applause, massive support and many, many votes from the viewers. The right words can generate enormous power and energy. This silver medal shines like golden sunlight.
The media's constant brainwashing of our minds is an important issue. We also worry about our environment and the always rising bills for electricity and fuel. But our biggest worry is still our job market, and the fact that politicians see working people as tax-cows instead of problem-solvers. The Polish candidate attacks her Minister of Social Affairs, Raissa Sikorsky, about her Sikorsky Law. Her short but emotional speech wins the gold medal.
"Do you trust me, Raissa? I trusted you. I loved you. I voted for you. I don't need you to solve my problems. I can solve my own problems. I work hard. I solve many problems for others. All I need is a job with a decent salary. I didn't vote for you, so you could solve my problems. I voted for you because I trusted you. And then you presented your Sikorsky Law…
» Your Sikorsky Law makes it possible for every company in our country to fire its employees. Now they can fire the high salaries and hire the low. You force me to work harder for less money. I have a commitment of thirty years of mortgage on my house, and now I have one hour of job guarantee, to keep my promise to pay for that loan. When I lose my job, I'll lose my house, my future and my life.
» You say that your law helps us to compete against low-cost production in other countries. Why don't you raise import taxes on the low-cost production that causes the problem? Why don't you raise taxes on imported goods, instead of systematically lowering the income of all the hard-working people who voted for you? Why do you punish me, and all the other workers in our country, for something we're not responsible for? You know you can trust us. What Polish people make will never, never break. But you prefer to fill our market with cheap Asian products, and you force Polish workers to lower their standards of life, according to Asian salaries.
» Your law helps the owners of companies. Your law helps workers in other countries. But your law doesn't help us, the hard-working Polish people who voted for you. You should give us a chance. This can't be the end. I'm still loving you, but I ask myself: Who do you work for, Raissa Sikorsky? Who do you trust? Who do you love?"