The Insatiables by Brittany Terwilliger

The Insatiables by Brittany Terwilliger

Author:Brittany Terwilliger [Terwilliger, Brittany]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Businesswomen, Business ethics, Corporate culture, Work environment, Fiction, comedy, satire
ISBN: 9781944995607
Publisher: Amberjack Publishing
Published: 2018-09-03T16:00:00+00:00


21

“Why do we even need a theme?” Molly asked sweetly, as if she was only trying to help.

What followed was the sound of my head exploding. It was our fourth attempt at establishing a theme, and now we had to stop and have a conversation about whether or not it was necessary to establish a theme.

“You can’t run a campaign without a theme,” Chad pointed out.

“Why do we need to run a campaign? Can’t we just do the launch?”

Max sighed. “How are people going to know what we’re launching?”

“We’ll tell them it’s the Tantalus,” Molly replied.

“How will they know how the Tantalus fits into the context of their own lives?” Max asked. “How will we even get their attention to tell them?”

“The campaign,” Chad suggested.

“Right,” Max said.

“Okay, so back to the fireworks,” I said. “They told me we could have them at the gala but not at the booth.”

“We need them at the booth,” Max said matter-of-factly.

“They won’t let us have them at the booth.”

Max’s voice flattened. “You need to play hardball, Halley.”

“How can I play hardball? We don’t have any leverage.”

“Threaten to pull out of DEVO next year.”

“We’re a Platinum sponsor, that’s not even something I can decide. They’ll just laugh in my face.”

“You’re overcivilized,” Max said.

“What . . .?” I didn’t even know what he meant by that. “Why don’t you call them?”

“Not my job,” Max replied. “I’m here to think up the ideas. You’re here to execute them.”

I began to reminisce about a simpler time when I was a Level 1. Sitting in my happy little cubicle, listening to Celeste’s latest travel story, watching Phil Collins blow bubbles. I missed them so much I almost cried. Now I had twice the workload, an off-limits married client as my only friend, and I had to deal with Max.

“If you’re the ideas man, why are we still debating the theme?” I said. “Why don’t you come up with one?”

“Fine,” Max said.

Everyone was silent for a few seconds.

“Well?” I said.

“I will announce the theme when I’m ready, Halley.”

“Fine,” I said.

It was Friday afternoon, and the exterminator had cleared my condo of rodents. I headed to Le Clerc to buy some cheese, because maybe cheese would temporarily ameliorate my increasing inability to control any aspect of my life. These days I couldn’t seem to get enough cheese. Cheese was the source of all that was good and right in the world. Actually, there was something about French food in general that had begun to elicit addictive tendencies in me. Considering I’d spent the first twenty-three years of my life in a place where gravy was a food group, I guess I needed to make up for lost time.

I was standing in front of the dairy case trying to decide between a Cabecou and a Brie de Melun, when the cheese lady approached and spoke to me in words I didn’t understand.

“Blah blah blah, blah blah?”

I flipped through my dictionary, but I didn’t even know where to start. The cheese lady smiled, pulled a knife out of her apron, sliced off a little piece of the Cabecou and offered it to me.



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