by Max Barry
MEMO TO S. BLACKLAND
RE: NEW COKE PROJECT
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
MEMO TO S. BLACKLAND
RE: NEW COKE PROJECT [2]
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
MEMO TO J. JACKSON
RE: REFERENCE
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
day one
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.
the scat diaries
TUESDAY.
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.
WEDNESDAY.
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.
THURSDAY.
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.
look out behind you
“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.”
6 confesses [2]
“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.
T
hen 6 says, almost gently, “Or hire you.”
snap
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.
mktg case study #6: mktg cigarettes
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.”
hope
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.
6 takes a breath, then hits the EMERGENCY STOP button. The elevator stops so fast I almost hit the ceiling. Before I can recover, 6 is in my face, holding me by my lapels. Despite myself, I’m stunned by her proximity. I’m undone by the spice of her breath.
“You’re talented, okay?” She actually looks angry. “You have real genius. I’ve never said that to anyone before.” Her huge black eyes drill me. “You might be the best marketer I’ve ever met.”
She kisses me.
the kiss
Hard. Fast. Devastating.
faith
6 breaks away, and I gasp for air. White spots come over and peer into my eyes to make sure I’m okay. My nerves leap around, saying, “What the fuck was that?” and for a second I’m sure 6 has taken the opportunity to punch me hard in the guts. When she starts the elevator again, I have to grab the wall to avoid falling to the floor.
The doors slide open but 6 doesn’t move. She just says, “We can do this, Scat. We are going to do this.”
I believe her.
the last stand
Three million-dollar ideas per year. Three.
I don’t even switch on the computer. I search through the desk drawers until I find a sheaf of paper and a pen, and I start writing.
I write copy. I draw pictures. I write TV-spot scripts. I don’t review anything, I don’t edit anything, and I don’t throw anything in the trash. I just churn through page after page, and I don’t stop.
Three million-dollar ideas per year.
When 6 delivers my cucumber sandwiches at noon, I don’t have time to talk to her; I just take the food with my left hand and keep writing with my right. 6 watches me for a moment, then withdraws.
I go nonstop until 4:30, when 6 visits me again. She looks as nervous as I’ve ever seen her. “Scat, it’s time. Whatever you’ve got, we need it now.”
I take a long, slow breath and flip to the start of my pad.
And I start reviewing.
why “calvin and hobbes” is so funny
“Calvin and Hobbes” is my favorite comic strip in the world.
I’m a bit of a fan of “Robotman,” too, and I can’t go past a “Dilbert,” but neither of them can really match it with “Calvin and Hobbes.” Because “Calvin and Hobbes” is true.
The strip has a great range, but my favorites are the cutting insights into the marketing industry and America’s marketing culture. Bill Watterson, the creator of “Calvin and Hobbes,” hates marketing. You don’t need any more proof of this than the fact that he’s never allowed any “Calvin and Hobbes” merchandise: no coffee cups, no lunch boxes, no T-shirts. He’s deliberately turned his back on the opportunity to make a great deal of money in order to preserve the integrity of his strip. Now that’s impressive.
Bill was also known for taking frequent sabbaticals from his work. It’s difficult for a cartoonist with commitments to the daily papers to take a break, because the strip risks losing its spot in the papers, but Bill did it again and again.
I’m guessing, but I think Bill did it to keep his art honest. I think Bill couldn’t stand the idea of having to submit a strip he’s not completely happy with just to meet a deadline.
Because, sometimes, you just can’t force it.
strike two
“Well?” 6 asks. Her voice is tight and strained. I look up and see her face is ashen.
“It’s crap,” I say dully. “It’s all crap.”
The word crap hangs in the air between us for a few seconds. 6 stares at me as if I have betrayed her.
“No,” she says. “There must be something. There must—”
“6—” I throw the pad with all its pathetic ideas onto the desk with disgust. “I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it.”
6 hangs her head.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She looks up at me, and her face is absolutely white. “I need to make a call.” She reaches over my desk and picks up the phone, dialing an extension from memory. Sh
e waits for a long time before speaking, so I guess she’s got voice mail. “Mr. Jamieson, this is 6 at four-forty-five on Friday the Twenty-eighth. I would like to tender my resignation from Coca-Cola.” She swallows and takes a long second before continuing. “I have failed to perform satisfactorily in managing the launch of the summer Classic Coke campaign, which will now be at least four weeks late. Through my mismanagement, I have endangered the profitability of the company. I have no excuse.
“Thank you for the opportunities you have shown me at Coca-Cola, and please accept my humblest apologies.
“Good-bye.”
Life, Death and Coca-Cola
aftermath
We stand in the parking lot for a long time.
Well, I stand in the parking lot. 6 sits in the parking lot, paces the parking lot and stares at the parking lot.
“Uh, 6,” I say again. “Maybe we should be going.”
She stares at me expressionlessly. Then she turns back to the black Coke tower.
I clear my throat and look around nervously.
“I’m finished,” 6 says suddenly. “I’m over.”
I sigh, which is apparently a bad reaction. 6 rounds on me, her eyes narrow slits. “You, ”she spits. “I thought you had ideas.”