Intangible Accounts. We’ve got about thirty main areas of exploitation, but there are two lines that far outweigh all the others. One is politics. The other is religion. Do you know anything about either one of them?”
I shrugged. “What I studied in college,” I said. “Personally, I was always a commodity man. I sold goods, not airy-fairy ideas. “
He looked at me in a way that made me think it wouldn’t be so bad, really, to go back to delivering packages, but he had made up his mind to give me a job, and give me a job he would. “If you don’t care which,” he said, “I guess the place we need help right now is religion. Maybe you don’t realize what a valuable account religion is?” Well, I didn’t, but I didn’t say anything. “You talk about commodities. Goods. All right, Tarb, figure it out. If you sell somebody a jar of Coffiest they pay maybe a dollar for it. Forty cents of that goes to the retailer and the jobber. The label and the jar cost a nickel, and you have to spend maybe three cents for the contents.”
“Nice margin of profit,” I said approvingly. “That’s where you’re wrong! Add it up. Nearly half your money goes to the damn product. It’s the same with appliances, the same with clothes, the same with all those tangible things. But religion! Ah, religion, “ he said softly, his face beaming with a reverential glow. “In religion the product doesn’t cost a damn cent. Maybe we spend a few bucks on land and construction—it looks really good if you can show some cathedral or temple or something, though mostly we just use miniatures and process shots. Maybe we print a few pamphlets. Sometimes a couple of books. But you just look at the P&L statements, Tenny, and you’ll see that the bottom line is sixty per cent profit! And most of the rest is promotion cost which, don’t forget, is our money too.”
I shook my head wonderingly. “I had no idea,” I said.
“Of course you had no idea! You product people are all the same. And that’s just religion. Politics, the same—even a bigger cash spin-off because we don’t have to build any churches … Although,” he said, his expression suddenly wistful, “it’s hard to get people to take an interest in politics these days. I used to think that could be the biggest of all, but—” He shook his head. “Well,” he said, “that’s the picture. Want to give it a try?”
Well, you bet I did. I charged into the copy console room with my adrenalin flowing, ready to meet the challenge—I’d forgotten that I was still a trainee. That meant that when they needed me to deliver a package they could still draft me, and Mr. Dambois’s suits needed to be picked up at the cleaners, and there was a sample of a new package for Kelpos, the Krispy Snack, that had to get to Production … it was closing time when I got back to my console. And I didn’t get to see Mitzi that night after all. Instead of my date there was a message on my machine: Something came up. Sorry. Reschedule tomorrow?
It was a jolt. I’d been prepping myself for a happy evening, and now it was taken away from me.
On the way home I hit the Mokes pretty hard, and when I finally got my turn in the bed box and fell asleep my thoughts were not cheerful, in spite of the new job. Things had changed a lot! Back on Venus, Mitzi Ku had been happy enough to date a section head. Even flattered! Now the world for the two of us had turned upside down. I could whistle, but unless she happened to feel like it she wouldn’t come. Worse than that, somebody else might have a louder and more compelling whistle. The hardest thing for me to reconcile myself to was that there were two other toms preening their plumage in her direction. Evidently what I was supposed to do was take a number and wait until called. And I didn’t care much for the contest. Competition from Val Dambois I could understand—I didn’t say like. Haseldyne was another matter. Who was this sumo blimp with
I shrugged. “What I studied in college,” I said. “Personally, I was always a commodity man. I sold goods, not airy-fairy ideas. “
He looked at me in a way that made me think it wouldn’t be so bad, really, to go back to delivering packages, but he had made up his mind to give me a job, and give me a job he would. “If you don’t care which,” he said, “I guess the place we need help right now is religion. Maybe you don’t realize what a valuable account religion is?” Well, I didn’t, but I didn’t say anything. “You talk about commodities. Goods. All right, Tarb, figure it out. If you sell somebody a jar of Coffiest they pay maybe a dollar for it. Forty cents of that goes to the retailer and the jobber. The label and the jar cost a nickel, and you have to spend maybe three cents for the contents.”
“Nice margin of profit,” I said approvingly. “That’s where you’re wrong! Add it up. Nearly half your money goes to the damn product. It’s the same with appliances, the same with clothes, the same with all those tangible things. But religion! Ah, religion, “ he said softly, his face beaming with a reverential glow. “In religion the product doesn’t cost a damn cent. Maybe we spend a few bucks on land and construction—it looks really good if you can show some cathedral or temple or something, though mostly we just use miniatures and process shots. Maybe we print a few pamphlets. Sometimes a couple of books. But you just look at the P&L statements, Tenny, and you’ll see that the bottom line is sixty per cent profit! And most of the rest is promotion cost which, don’t forget, is our money too.”
I shook my head wonderingly. “I had no idea,” I said.
“Of course you had no idea! You product people are all the same. And that’s just religion. Politics, the same—even a bigger cash spin-off because we don’t have to build any churches … Although,” he said, his expression suddenly wistful, “it’s hard to get people to take an interest in politics these days. I used to think that could be the biggest of all, but—” He shook his head. “Well,” he said, “that’s the picture. Want to give it a try?”
Well, you bet I did. I charged into the copy console room with my adrenalin flowing, ready to meet the challenge—I’d forgotten that I was still a trainee. That meant that when they needed me to deliver a package they could still draft me, and Mr. Dambois’s suits needed to be picked up at the cleaners, and there was a sample of a new package for Kelpos, the Krispy Snack, that had to get to Production … it was closing time when I got back to my console. And I didn’t get to see Mitzi that night after all. Instead of my date there was a message on my machine: Something came up. Sorry. Reschedule tomorrow?
It was a jolt. I’d been prepping myself for a happy evening, and now it was taken away from me.
On the way home I hit the Mokes pretty hard, and when I finally got my turn in the bed box and fell asleep my thoughts were not cheerful, in spite of the new job. Things had changed a lot! Back on Venus, Mitzi Ku had been happy enough to date a section head. Even flattered! Now the world for the two of us had turned upside down. I could whistle, but unless she happened to feel like it she wouldn’t come. Worse than that, somebody else might have a louder and more compelling whistle. The hardest thing for me to reconcile myself to was that there were two other toms preening their plumage in her direction. Evidently what I was supposed to do was take a number and wait until called. And I didn’t care much for the contest. Competition from Val Dambois I could understand—I didn’t say like. Haseldyne was another matter. Who was this sumo blimp with
Similar Books
