Management and Marketing 101 - The Conversation

I recently discovered this 'piece' of writing in the sent messages of my old high school email address. I wrote this when I was 16, and I think I must have been going through an intense 'tv comedy writer' phase. Management and Marketing was probably my favourite class I took in high school. Mostly because it was taught by the best teacher, and the students of the class were a very small group of kids who were all anomalies and straight up weirdos but in the best way. It was a perfect ethnic combo of freaks and geeks except in the 21st century in which changing someones screensaver to a picture of fecal matter replaces locker vandalism. I forget who resembles who in this fictional dialogue now, but If i were to ever write anything resembling a strange dysfunctional tv comedy I'm positive that I would look back to this classroom first for inspiration.

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The Conversation

“Why would you even watch that show?”

We were all sitting in our management and marketing classroom, waiting for Mr.Olbricht to come in but 20 minutes had passed and somehow the conversation had led to T.V shows.

“Yeah, why would you watch Ugly Betty? It’s just that dumb show about the Hispanic girl who designs clothes right?”

“No, no, no. She works for a fashion magazine, and she doesn’t know anything about fashion, but then slowly as the show progresses she learns the tricks”

“That’s so stupid”

“That’s exactly like the Devil Wears Prada. At least Anne Hathaway looks good”

“I think it’s an endearing show.”

“I think I’d rather watch My Family on BBC”

“I guess it’s a guilty pleasure show. Sort of like Hannah Montana”

Everyone looked up in unison with a look of shock but hilarious agreement on their faces.

David spoke up “What’s Hannah Montana?”

Whispers immediately broke out and no-one knew what to say.

“How can you not know what Hannah Montana is? Do you not know what the Disney Channel is as well?”

“No. I don’t”

“What the fuck is wrong with you David.”

“Someone tell me what it is”

“Okay so basically, there’s this hillbilly chick who suffers from multiple personality disorder and-“

“No she doesn’t you idiot, she just has an alternative lifestyle as a teen pop star”

“Sounds like MPD to me”

“Go fuck yourself”

“Why are you getting so worked up? It’s just a dumb kid’s show”

“My aunt co-wrote 3 episodes from season 1. You know that short Spanish kid who runs the fruit stand at the beach on the show?”

“No”

“Well his name’s Rico. And he’s named after my little brother”

Even though a minute ago we were putting down Hannah Montana we all oo’ed and ahh’ed at this news. A TV-show character being named after your sibling was a huge deal regardless of what show, or which character. Matt, seeing a perfect opportunity to crack a demented joke, spoke out.

“I was going to write a show called “Alexis Texas””

“That’s not even funny Matt”

“Yeah that’s just stupid”

We all looked at Matt’s screen to see that he had just google’d “Female names that rhyme with American States”.

Deciding to let this one go we continued our discussion

“Okay, okay, if you had to be a character on a television show, who would you be?”

“Are cartoons included?”

“Yes”

“Is anime included?”

“Anime is cartoon idiot”

“Oh my god, no its not. It’s entirely different”

“I’m sorry, but to me, cartoon is animation. And so is anime, hence the name”

“It’s entirely different”

“How is it –“

“Just shut up okay.”

“Anime included guys”

“Uhmm”

“Okay let me think”

“I’ve got one”

“I’ve got a better one. I’d probably want to be Rupert”

“Rupert? Rupert the bear? With the red sweater and yellow scarf?”

“Yeah. He was the smartest out of all his friends, had the best parents, I think he was an only child, and often got to go on magical journey’s that weren’t stupid but a delight to watch and made one long to be a part of his world”

We nodded our heads in agreement.

“Understandable. Alright. I’d want to be Izzie on Grey’s Anatomy”

“Why the hell would you want to be Izzie?”

“It’s not to really be Izzie. It’s just to be on Grey’s Anatomy”

“And do what?”

“Tell Sandra Oh to stop kidding herself and quit the television industry. She’s really something”

“I really like her. She’s funny”

“Okay. Just because you said that I’m going to unplug a bunch of shit from the back of your computer”

“Okay I got one”

“No one cares Matt”

“Just listen. It’s cool. I’d want to be Johnny Depp from Jump Street”

“That’s cool Matt, but everyone stopped giving a shit the moment you opened your mouth.”

“Don’t you guys want to know why I’d be him?”

“I want to be Naruto”

“Tell us why David”

“Okay, even though Sakura and Sasuke hate him, it’s obvious that they would be nothing without their united powers. Not to mention Sakura liking him as well. Sasuke also thinks of him as his real true friend, you start seeing this as you near the episodes in the early hundreds. Naruto also has the doppelganger effect. Something I wouldn’t mind having myself”

“Who’s Naruto?”

“Okay it’s a show where-“

“All your choices are stupid. I’d be Jackie from That 70’s Show”

“An obvious slut decision.”

Mr.Olbricht walked in, holding a copy of Reservoir Dogs in one hand and The Corporation in the other.

“Sweet! Reservoir Dogs!”

“What? Oh no no no” he chuckled. “We’ll be watching The Corporation today. Has anyone seen this movie”

“Has anyone seen your face?”

“Hahaha”

“No really, let’s just watch Reservoir Dogs Mr.Olbricht. I never knew you liked Quentin. I myself am a big Pulp Fiction fan”

“What kind of asshole says that out loud? We're all Pulp Fiction fans moron”

“Okay. Enough joking time”

“We weren’t joking. This is how we are”

He ignored us and put in The Corporation, while trying to hide reservoir dogs behind a stack of books on legal studies. We settled into movie mode, where magically someone pulled out a bag of Doritos’s and two pop cans from under their desk. Instead of The Corporation coming on screen, a picture of Dustin Hoffman acting disabled popped up and set into motion.

“Yo, what the fuck is this shit”

“This isn’t The Corporation”

“Hold on a second”

“Isn’t this the Rain Man. With Tom Cruise?”

“I saw this movie in psych 3 months ago. It was pretty lame”

“Hey. Which one of you guys caught Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s couch like a mad man”

“Matt. Are you kidding me?”

“That happened 3 fucking years ago man”

Something Has Changed Matthew

January 15th, 1963

Mr. Mattew Bowen

42 Westwood, Broughton

North Linconshire

Dear Matthew,

Do you remember the conversation we had the last time we saw each other a few months back? About the possibility that you might seriously invest in being an inventor.  Well this idea has fascinated me since we spoke about it, mostly because it has made me somewhat unsure about you. I’ve been toying with why it has made me uncomfortable about seeing you again and a few nights ago I realized what it was.  After the usual bit of reading, and once the candle had melted entirely onto the wood I managed to slip off into a very deep sleep. And Matthew, I had the most peculiar dream. In it you were standing on a staircase above me with a hammer in one hand and a book of instructions penned by yourself in the other. And as hard as I tried to climb and reach the top of the staircase I couldn’t seem to reach your height. Eventually I got exhausted and collapsed at which point you simply laughed at me! You are most probably laughing now, but I must assert the seriousness of how I felt at the moment. The indignation and insecurity that pressed me to the bed each time you laughed down at me. I awoke sweating and terribly afraid of my own abilities and I began thinking a great deal about our conversation from before. See Matthew, the thing that astonishes me about inventors is the complication that comes with the idea that one can play god. How designs and blueprints and structures can all form under your fingers to amalgamate into a thing of beauty and a thing of function. And a thing that has both those qualities, function and beauty, is then a thing of greatness. In a microscopic sense, you have created something that serves a purpose. A structure that validates your genius and power. And in those structures, aside from the calculations that went into the thickness and length of the wood or the curvature of the knob the question is does it reveal something to you? Does it reveal a secret about your leadership and your visions for the future?  I am no inventor because I am not good at building from scratch. Clay and craft and brick never form under my hand. I am no inventor because my forte is the process of taking ideas that already are and then reforming it to make it mine. It can easily be confused for invention if done with finesse, but it is actually adaptation and re-iteration.  And thus I have realized that I am terrified of seeing you again, for if you really are an inventor now, you are much more powerful than me. At least in whatever way I measure power. If you have truly invested in this craft and become successful, then I’m afraid our friendship will forever remain in a loop in which I fear you may somehow know more than me. That you may know more about the rules that are bound to this world and have found some way to be a part of the process of creation. I fear that our friendship will deteriorate to a level in which I constantly wonder what secrets you know about being utterly novel and what you have discovered in those long nights in which you pour over your constructions.

I hope I have not offended you Mattew. In some ways, fearing you is the greatest compliment I can give you. I await your reply.

Sincerely,

Your friend the writer

1947.

When the independence came we were out looking for the line that seperated our lives before and after. A line that was not merely a political one, but one of substance that revealed a freedom that had always belonged to us.The truths of freedom though do not lie in the assigning of a new dawn when such a time has not yet come. The truths of freedom are bound to our relationships with our countrymen, the simple availability of grain and the small but magnificent idea that one can move through social strata's without fear. Nonetheless, tonight, freedom manifested itself everywhere through the promise that was offered with independence. An idea, an action, a dream all flooding through the land's gutters and alley ways. 

So tonight, when the city was ablaze with both fire and hope, and the sky was bursting with a thousand colours the people had released, in the smallest room of the floor above a tobacco shop he shared his first kiss. The adults had all run into the streets to celebrate, forgetting momentarily the children who were pretending to be asleep in whatever they used for a bed. It was not surprising that his father had always called Mohan an opportunist, for it was at this moment, when mothers and fathers were abandoning their posts and the city was drenched with the spirit of liberation that he climbed out of his bed, through the window and on to the roof. From there, it was only a few careful leaps across the closely collected rooftops of  Vibhav Nagar. He stopped, knowing exactly where she lived and stumbled onto her balcony. Behind him, the streets were full, the teenagers too drunk to care about a young boy running through the rooftops of Agra. Someone called out "Thief!", but even such an accusation was submerged in laughter. For how trivial was the crime of a thief? How much it didn't matter on this night. 

He was not yet old enough to realize exactly why the city had gone mad, but he knew something important was happening. He knew then that to invest in this particular night would bring about the best outcome. He picked the lock of the balcony door with ease and moved through her house without concern for anything. He was brash, stumbling over pots and chairs but laughing to himself. He didn't care. Something beautiful was happening outside and he was going to transfer that feeling into this house. He knew no-one else was home but her, and he called out. Bravely, stupidly, with all the zeal a 14 year old boy can muster he let her name tumble out of his mouth. Instead of appearing from the smallest room in the house, she came through the front door at that exact moment. Upon seeing him, her face broke into a smile. And then, an expression that held the same excitement and curiosity Mohan's voice had betrayed. Both of them were drenched in the heat that came with all Augusts, which for some reason had grown thicker tonight. Perhaps it was the fires in the city. Perhaps it was the realization that change was creeping through not only the land but this room, coiling itself around their hands and clothes and eyelashes. 

"I was out looking for you," She said.

"I came here. Everyones gone."

"I know."