“Bienvenue à tous. Welcome everybody. Can you hear me in London? Allôôôô?”
This damn video conference is really acting up again, Jesus… Even though our technician Régis firmly assured me that it would work! Rule number 5: Never trust your subordinates ever, they can’t imagine the pressure we marketing executives have to deal with everyday. We really can’t afford it to crash today. The stakes are too high: it’s my product’s brand development day, my baby, Prop dishwasher tide tablets. It is simply THE iconic product from our dishwash range: it has kept evolving since its rebranding five years ago, with comfortable margins that are nonetheless harshly disputed by our competitors, innovations that have to come out every six months…
How could poor Régis even understand that?
As you can guess, the title of “Prop brand manager” is a responsibility of each and every moment. But it gives me a lot of pride as well, after a few years spent stagnating in the bechamel sauce section. Prop, honestly, I wasn’t trying to reach that high. I thought of going through the usual track, the winning track: sauces > margarines > tea > ice creams > dishwasher. But I didn’t. Thanks to an unexpected sick leave, the spot went vacant. I immediately applied and brought forward the accomplishments I made in the bechamel sauce field: I was especially proud of the rebound of the sales after years of standstill, thanks to the introduction of a new “light” recipe for female customers who worried about their weight (obstacle number one in the sales of alimentary sauces according to Ipses and Sofros institutes.) That + 22% in the sales sent me directly into the peak marketing galaxy. I could speak informally with my general manager, I could lay my eyes arrogantly, as required, into those of the ones who mattered in the refectory: the world was going to hear about Marika Guibert!
“Marika? Marika? we can’t see you, the screen is black on our side…”
“Yes, one moment John — Julien!!! Go to the information technology floor and get Régis here quick, got it?” Julien is my intern. Well, I do share him with the other brand managers from Niqel (washing powder) and Klin (detergent). Not quite the fastest, our Juju, but he gets the job done: he fills in Excel charts, Powerpoint presentations, he connects us with different agencies (communication, ad, production). He spares me the dirty work, so I can remain proper for Prop. However, he may be acting on behalf of a very understandable inferiority complex, as he has developed the unnerving tendency to boss around… Which is making me as well as Mélusine (Niqel) and Josepha (Klin) slightly irritated. Who does he think he is, this prepubescent who just graduated business school and still wears red striped white sneakers? Sweet Julien, so ordinary. At the end of the day, I can tell what he’s doing: he’s trying to replicate me. I can feel it just by his stare of admiration, fear and fake confidence, that is, begging for a scrap of recognition in order to satisfy his crippled ego. He would love to believe that he’s not doing it all in vain. That he counts too. Pathetic.
I have to admit: I like provoking that feeling even though I don’t show it, obviously. Julien needs to go through the same school as everyone else: school of competition, of low blows and of mercilessness. When you think about it, I am doing him a favour. If he doesn’t get tougher in this environment, he might as well say goodbye to whatever career he could have expected in marketing. Yes, I am even helping him out, that poor Julien who showed up here coming from his small town, Dijon. If he makes it in this field, he’ll have to thank me. Rule number 4: Cultivate subterfuges, you can always use an ally (even if he’s an intern). “Julien, you on it yet?”
“Back to what I was saying: Welcome everyone to the Prop development day. May I remind you of the goals for today, as you can see on the slide: SWOT, 5-year-marketing-plan, retail & pricing, advertising & branding, who does what and when. Questions?” The ten or so people sitting around the table, all of them consultants from different agencies, nod solemnly, with a look of serious concern about what is going to be said, exchanged, decided inside this transparent glass-lined bubble, up the third floor of the Gold Tower in La Défense.
Margot, Chief Happiness Officer, knocks on the door. Nobody asked for her… “Ah, Margot!” Good timing, come in!”
“Hello everyone, I am only interrupting for a couple minutes, to tell you about the rules (she quotes unquotes in the air with her fingers as she’s speaking) “work to-ge-ther” at Gold’s. You will find a water fountain at the end of the corridor — still and sparkling — in free access. On the sixth floor the cafeteria provides coffee, tea, hot and cold drinks, all of them branded Gold, obviously. Make the most of them for half the price they are outside! About lunch… Marika what have you planned? Cafeteria or meal-tray?”
“I ordered take-out sandwiches. We have quite a busy day.”
“Perfect. Well, I’m just going to wish you guys an enjoyable and productive day at Gold’s!”
“Thank you Margot, what would we do without you!”
The youthful blonde girl winks towards the attendance, then walks away, pretending to be totally comfortable in her heels that are too high, paired with a glittery top typical of a very boozy New Year’s Eve.
“So, let’s begin with the communication. M&B it’s for you. I’m handing the cable over to you.”
With an expert move, I disconnect my laptop while the two consultants are starting to hurry in every way, panicking about the idea that precious minutes could be wasted on their behalf, during such a determining day. However in only a few seconds, the room screen lights up with the colours of the communication agency, in khaki green and bright yellow (it seems to be in fashion). Both consultants barely hide their relief. They sent a senior and a junior, like they often do: the junior gets practice and the senior overtakes the glory. The usual. So the junior, some Pierrick? Pierre-Yves? Yvon? starts the presentation off: “As you can see on that slide, our last communication platform, singing dishes is performing well among consumers.”
TING: “Aperitif tonight? 
Pierryon freezes, waiting for my reaction to keep going with his presentation. I make a move with my hands to encourage him, without looking up from Virginie’s text, category manager, for Fresh and Sopy washing products.
“OK, 9PM?”
TING: “Yup. I have to put up with the agencies this afternoon, awful.”
“Tell me about it, I’m stuck with them all day”
TING: “stay strong!”
“… And so, Prop displays a score of 9 in purchasing power, which is significantly superior to the norm.” Pierryon carries on timidly, looking out for my approval. “Hmmm. And compared to last year?” I ask with a “been there, done that” look. Pierryon points at the screen shakily “it increased by 20% since N-1”.
I sit back in my armchair, still with my focused look, but the ego in a trance: 9 from purchasing power, + 20% compared to N+1: it’s good, real good even. There’s a small icon that represents a green light next to it, which is telling!
“Seems logical to go on with the singing dishes ads then… M&B, could you further explore the topic? About other possible variations: singing dishes are okay, but why not dancing dishes, waltzing dishes, rapping dishes, rocking dishes… In and/or out the dishwasher… It is an opening for various possibilities!” I say, very seriously.
“Hello Marika? Hello?”
Yes! The Brits come in at the right moment.
“Hello John! Hello Barbara!” Finally, it seems like problems are solving themselves simply. Régis didn’t bother to move an inch from his office: what is the point in an information technology department that’s continuously late and useless? Rule number 5 confirmed.
“You are joining us at the perfect time! M&B is showing us the great performances of the singing dishes platform.”
“Wow, great. Incredible results. Marika, well done to you!”
I can’t help but stretch my lips into a hint of a smile, meant to express my absolute modesty.
“Thanks, but it really is a collective success!” I specify in my most humble voice.
I’ve been preparing this meeting for six months. Unfolding all of my energy for Prop, day and night sometimes too. My dream is for Prop to blow up the sales! For its name to be chanted when you enter supermarkets, for our product and all of its variants to occupy eight full sections: super power, anti-grease, lemon scented, peppermint, island fresh… One day, the general manager, not being able to hold it together, will come to congratulate me in person, right in the middle of the open space.
“Marika, I have to admit that the energy, the determination, the sense of strategy that you successfully put to serve Prop blows me away.”
“Thank you Jean-Pierre, but it really is a collective success…”
Mélusine and Josepha would glance at me, full of envy and fuming with rage, but putting up the calm smile of the colleague who approves a rightful credit.
“No, this success is entirely your doing, Marika. You proved your worth, I am offering a job accordingly.”
“What? So soon? I don’t know if I could ever leave Prop, especially as I live Prop, I wake up Prop, I eat Prop…”
“Marika, what do you think about becoming my right-hand woman?”
“Oh, Jean-Pierre…”
“Hum… hum… HUM… Marika?”
“Uh? Yes sorry, what? Oh, yes, thank you M&B, it’s great. Let’s move on, uh… Ipses! Your turn!” Other consultants take turns — are they the same ? — other slides — still as positive — other compliments… I am struggling to get back on Earth. By lunch time, I call for a break: I can’t hold my need to jubilate any longer!
Sandwiches arrive on a food trolley: I let every consultant pick out their mass-produced bread while I sneak out, pretending I have a very important call to make. Rule number 3: Always look very busy. I go by my desk to drop my stuff before I catch up to Virginie on the Catman’s floor.
Before I run to the elevators, I stumble upon Mélusine, her eyes red and her mascara Gold all smeared.
“Are you okay, Mélu?”
“No I’m in big trouble…”
“What happened?”
“I just got the last sales numbers this morning: Niquel+ is tumbling down, its performances are super low… Even though I did my best on the promotions! It is going to be taken off the shelves, do you realize? It was my baby, Marika, my baby!! I’m done for…”
“Don’t worry you’re really not. It is just a rough patch…”
“Well, I don’t know. Jean-Pierre expects me in his office this afternoon… I have a bad feeling.”
“Really?”
I couldn’t hold back a slightly hopeful tone on that one. Mélusine stares at me for a moment, defeated.
My mind is spinning in high speed: if Mélu is kicked out, they will be in need of someone (someone tough of course) to bounce Niqel+ back while it’s drowning. Apart from Josepha, who’s already struggling with Klin (she’s already under fire by feminists because her ads are considered too “sexist” even though, believe me, it is still the good old housewife under 50 who’s in charge of all the cleaning and the groceries in around 80% of homes in France) Who else but… me? No, it would be too good to be real. Prop AND Niqel? Never seen before… It would simply be a superwoman’s work. I shift my eyes from Mélusine’s baffled face for a moment: the elevator glass doors reflect a defying look, the look of a winner. Yes, it’s almost all done…
“Mélu, I would have loved to have lunch with you, but I am stuck with the agencies right now. Don’t worry though, I’m sure it’s going to be okay. Get yourself some lunch at Cojean! It will clear your head, and everything will be fine after that, you’ll see.” I flash my ‘compassionate colleague’ smile, pat her back and I leave my now ex-competitor there. Second floor? Fifth floor? Virginie or Jean-Pierre? My heart races wildly, jumping out of my chest as I stand in the elevator. Should I wait for JP to call for me, as the obedient and docile hard worker, or should I make the first move and be the one who anticipates like a visionary? Rule number 2: Prompt your own luck. My finger reaches number 5. When I get to the floor of power, I trample like a conqueror on a carpet floor, as thick as my future success. Approaching the general manager’s office, I can hear snippets of voices: seems like he’s on the phone… I am pressed against the wall next to it, trying to catch the words without getting caught.
“… excellent work… one of our best employees… A well deserved promotion…”
Could it be that Jean-Pierre is already on the phone with the board, validating the next step in my dazzling career?
“… Prop… Niquel+… bechamel sauce…”
No more doubt: they’re talking about me! I am silently jubilating, then I hear another voice: “Thank you Jean-Pierre”… That voice… Even if I don’t know why yet, something inside of me is starting to slowly crumble.
In a sudden burst of survival, leaving all good manners aside, I put a knee on the ground, then both, and I bring myself closer as discreetly as possible, so I can take a quick glance inside the mystery poweroffice. Red striped white sneakers strike back at my sneaky behavior and dreams of glory like a boomerang.
“Never forget Julien: there’s only one rule,” the general manager rounds off, like he’s telling a secret “always think ahead.”
