A World Without String Is Chaos 15 Chapter 15: The Conclave Of Very Influential People

"Gentlemen, we have a problem."

"As you know, our sales have dipped. Not a lot. But by a bit. A bit too much."

A young whippersnapper, freshly graduated from a top business school, chimed in.

"We've been lobbying hard, Mr. White. Journalists in their Op-Eds have decried this...soda tax, as the start of a nanny state. We didn't even have to pay them. The people are mad, too. They love soda."

Mr. White kept frowning. "It all started because of a local town official proposing this...soda tax. How the h.e.l.l did the conservative party not shut it down? It's a tax, for crying out loud. On our product!"

He continued his monologue, and the men looked attentive and intimidated.

"How the h.e.l.l did this become a national issue? It's become a party slogan. A national...soda tax? It's all so ridiculous!"

"That...Maria Cortez. Have you looked into her?"

The young man spoke, looking a little incredulous. "She's a monster. Her political career was smooth sailing from day one. And she's squeaky clean. We have no choice but to fight this...on the merits."

The old man looked like he was about to erupt, but it only lasted for a second. Very influential people like him didn't make it to where he was by letting their emotions get the better of them.

"It's not about the sales. People won't stop buying our products because of this...soda tax. It's about optics. PR. Our company's image is taking a hit."

"How about an ad campaign? Or a promotion? A giveaway to an island paradise?" A middle aged man with a red tie suggested. "It won't solve the problem, but it's something."

The old man waved his hand. "Yes, do that. It's not going to hurt." What was a few hundred thousand dollars in ad money and a giveaway to a mega corporation like them?

"This is a bigger problem than a...soda tax. The party is getting too powerful, and the delicate balance of the system is in jeopardy. No one party should ever be this popular. Gentlemen, it's always been us who run the show. Not those bureaucrats. And that won't change, not over my dead body."

The young man looked confused. 'It's just a...soda tax.' He thought to himself. But he kept his mouth shut. No need to be the nail sticking out to be slammed by the hammer. In fact, every one of them kept their mouths shut.

"Should we rig the giveaway? Let some internet celebrity girl win?"

The old man pondered for a second. "No. Don't rig it. Things are too populist right now, and it'll look bad if some small time celebrity figure wins at this time. It'll be best if some Average Joe wins. Don't be bothered, just let it be."

The conclave of very influential people went on to the next agenda. The task of the promotion was handed down the line.

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In the meantime, Fred was getting restless. He'd been working at the deli for years, and he felt like traveling. He had saved a lot of money, and the savings account gave him some modest returns. He didn't feel like paying for a vacation, though. He had a low paying job, after all, and it hurt him to spend it on something so luxurious.

He was watching TV at home, when he saw an ad about some sort of giveaway to an island paradise. Fred was intrigued. And feeling, mischievous? He went online and put himself out there. Obviously, he wasn't going to win, but he changed that, a bit hesitantly. But he deserved this, Fred told himself.

So, Fred won the giveaway. He was going to go to an island paradise, a paid vacation.