So today's writing is inspired by the prompt and by this article that, sadly, didn't surprise me in the least when I saw it.
Delivery "We want to double pre-pandemic tourism," said the squat, brown-skinned woman in the ugly dress. Jeronica raised a perfect eyebrow and stood up from her desk. The desk was solid mahogany and slightly larger than a single bed and was intended to impress. It was, therefore, completely empty except for a tablet-sized computer on the size closest to Jeronica, and the paperwork for this meeting was three metres away on another desk at the edge of her office. A designer receptacle for pens was another metre way on the other side of the office. There was nothing that could be done practically or easily in here, but the point was to remind clients that they were there on sufferance and their money, no matter how good it might be, wasn't enough. "Malta is a very small island," said Jeronica, making an effort to sound thoughtful. Her team of assistants had done thorough research already; the number of tourists that this woman was asking for was approximately two million, and the reasons for the them visiting Malta appeared to be non-existent. "Can you fit that number of tourists on it? Without squeezing the natives off, of course, as I assume you'll want some 'local colour'." "We can put the natives on Gozo," said the woman brusquely. "They can take the ferry over to Malta daily. It's not like the Gozitans don't already do that." "I see," said Jeronica serenely. She half-smiled. "And what will the tourists do, exactly?" "That's your problem," said the woman sitting back and folding her arms across her chest. Her dress, which Jeronica suspected was supposed to be cultural, or perhaps even traditional, but actually looked like a white dress left in a rusty bin for three weeks, wrinkled awkwardly and the woman had to unfold her arms, straighten it out huffily, and then fold her arms across her chest again. The fat hanging off her arms jiggled as though to indicate her impatience. "No," said Jeronica. She waited just long enough for the woman to try speaking and cut her off. "We will provide a solution for you. We will provide supporting documents to show why it is a solution, how it meets your needs, and why other solutions are inferior. If needed, we will also provide plausible deniability and the likelihood of inevitability. But delivery is your problem. We are not in that line of work." "But Sweden--!" "Is a complete different issue and, as it happens, irrelevant. They did not want to sell their population out and replace it with exiled Russian oligarchs." "That is not what we're doing!" Jeronica considered ending the meeting at that point. Typically clients were bright enough to understand that their motives were clear and simply wouldn't be discussed, at least not in terms that might be actionable or evidentiary. If this woman really thought that Jeronica hadn't done her research then she shouldn't be here asking for help. But... Jeronica found herself with a morbid fascination to see how far this woman would go; what lengths her backers would reach in their attempts to crudely monetise a tiny Mediterranean island with little to recommend it. "We're trying to improve the economy," said the woman into the silence of Jeronica's thoughts. "We want to bring more money and distribute it." There were three seconds of silence. "Fairly." "Delivery remains your problem," said Jeronica, reaching a decision. Let this one play out a little further; the woman was paying for every consultation, after all.
Greg - woof. That's not a great situation for anyone. I can only imagine what Malta would be like should that number of tourists actually descend upon it.
And this, sadly, has an air of authenticity to it. And definitely has its margins filled in nicely by your experience in and of the country :)
2 comments:
So today's writing is inspired by the prompt and by this article that, sadly, didn't surprise me in the least when I saw it.
Delivery
"We want to double pre-pandemic tourism," said the squat, brown-skinned woman in the ugly dress. Jeronica raised a perfect eyebrow and stood up from her desk. The desk was solid mahogany and slightly larger than a single bed and was intended to impress. It was, therefore, completely empty except for a tablet-sized computer on the size closest to Jeronica, and the paperwork for this meeting was three metres away on another desk at the edge of her office. A designer receptacle for pens was another metre way on the other side of the office. There was nothing that could be done practically or easily in here, but the point was to remind clients that they were there on sufferance and their money, no matter how good it might be, wasn't enough.
"Malta is a very small island," said Jeronica, making an effort to sound thoughtful. Her team of assistants had done thorough research already; the number of tourists that this woman was asking for was approximately two million, and the reasons for the them visiting Malta appeared to be non-existent. "Can you fit that number of tourists on it? Without squeezing the natives off, of course, as I assume you'll want some 'local colour'."
"We can put the natives on Gozo," said the woman brusquely. "They can take the ferry over to Malta daily. It's not like the Gozitans don't already do that."
"I see," said Jeronica serenely. She half-smiled. "And what will the tourists do, exactly?"
"That's your problem," said the woman sitting back and folding her arms across her chest. Her dress, which Jeronica suspected was supposed to be cultural, or perhaps even traditional, but actually looked like a white dress left in a rusty bin for three weeks, wrinkled awkwardly and the woman had to unfold her arms, straighten it out huffily, and then fold her arms across her chest again. The fat hanging off her arms jiggled as though to indicate her impatience.
"No," said Jeronica. She waited just long enough for the woman to try speaking and cut her off. "We will provide a solution for you. We will provide supporting documents to show why it is a solution, how it meets your needs, and why other solutions are inferior. If needed, we will also provide plausible deniability and the likelihood of inevitability. But delivery is your problem. We are not in that line of work."
"But Sweden--!"
"Is a complete different issue and, as it happens, irrelevant. They did not want to sell their population out and replace it with exiled Russian oligarchs."
"That is not what we're doing!"
Jeronica considered ending the meeting at that point. Typically clients were bright enough to understand that their motives were clear and simply wouldn't be discussed, at least not in terms that might be actionable or evidentiary. If this woman really thought that Jeronica hadn't done her research then she shouldn't be here asking for help. But... Jeronica found herself with a morbid fascination to see how far this woman would go; what lengths her backers would reach in their attempts to crudely monetise a tiny Mediterranean island with little to recommend it.
"We're trying to improve the economy," said the woman into the silence of Jeronica's thoughts. "We want to bring more money and distribute it." There were three seconds of silence. "Fairly."
"Delivery remains your problem," said Jeronica, reaching a decision. Let this one play out a little further; the woman was paying for every consultation, after all.
Greg - woof. That's not a great situation for anyone. I can only imagine what Malta would be like should that number of tourists actually descend upon it.
And this, sadly, has an air of authenticity to it. And definitely has its margins filled in nicely by your experience in and of the country :)
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