This week's story is, like the Kirby Baby, sort of a rewrite of another story I wrote ages ago, and lost. But once again, the only thing shared between them is the general premise.

If I recall correctly, the idea for this popped into my head when I heard about how Pepsi had trademarked their own particular shade of blue, and that MGM's lion roar was also trademarked.

Enjoy!

---

Product Placement

The two men were in an office. One of them sat at his desk, looking at a computer screen. He was shaking his head a little, his chin barely moving. He brought a hand up to his jaw, as if to halt the motion.

The other stood by the window, looking down to the street three stories below, and the people walking up and down. He winced he when a large group of people in suits and overcoats charge on masse across the street. The thought fluttered briefly in his mind: The riots have started. But no, the group was just dashing to catch their bus on their way to work.

"There's going to be a shit storm, Ronald," said the man at the desk. He scrolled back up to the top of the email to begin rereading it for the umpteenth time.

"Twenty years ago."

"Under a Conservative government. There are still plenty of ties, even if there's been six or seven elections in between."

"Aaron, I'm not saying we don't have to face the music. It's just a bit unfair."

Aaron smiled thinly and kept looking out the window. Ronald continued, "At least they fired the people involved as soon as they realized what was going on."

"But they never told anyone. It'll smack of cover-up."

"I better call Anne and tell her I'll be home late."

Aaron nodded and looked at his watch. People would be getting to their offices soon, and those who hadn't read the newspaper yet would hear about it from coworkers. He had to get Pepsi on the phone, and start arranging the press conference.

"Going to be a long day."

---

Evan groaned, rolled over in his sleep. Parts of his brain were registering an external stimulus, trying to draw him back to consciousness but they were overruled by other, more dominant parts. He pulled his blue sheet over his head.

"Evan!" The poking turned into shaking, a hand on his shoulder rocking him violently. Eventually, he recognized his younger brother's voice.

"Marty, what do you want?"

"You gotta come see this. On TV."

Evan opened his eyes just wide enough to see the time on his alarm clock. The green, glowing numerals read 8:38.

"Marty, I worked last night. What is it?"

"It's on the news. C'mon!"

"Fine."

Evan struggled up to a seated position on his bed, eyes closed, and groped around on the floor until he found last night's t-shirt. He pulled it over his head inside-out; the rubbery Pepsi logo emblazoned on it was against his chest.

Marty had already ran down the hall ahead of him while he trudged toward the living room where he could hear the TV and the morning news, making a pit stop on the kitchen to grab a pop. He walked into the living room, plunked down on the couch and cracked open the can. Marty used the remote to turn the volume even louder.

The woman on TV stared into the camera and said, "We're going live to the Legislature where the Health Minister has called a press conference, no doubt to deal with with the rumours that have been flying around town this morning. We're just waiting for the Health Minister, Ronald McIntosh step up to begin."

An image of the press gallery in the Manitoba Legislature appeared, picture-in-picture. A large group of people huddled in the background, behind an empty podium with a microphone set up on it.

"You can see the Health Minister there, talking with Aaron Donaldson, the Justice Minister," the newscaster continued.

The Health Minister eventually turned away from his colleague, who clapped him on the back as he stepped toward the microphone. The cameraman providing the television channel's feed shuffled forward toward the podium, along with the other reporters.

Ronald McIntosh held up his hands before beginning to speak, and waited for the din to die down.

"Good morning everyone. Thank you all for coming. I know there are a lot of worries and concerns out there, but you'll have to bear with me. We're finding out about this almost as soon as you folks are," With one hand, he played with his red and white striped tie. "And I'd like remind you that the incident was twenty years ago."

The minister was drowned out by shouted questions from the crowd. Evan saw that it wasn't just reporters in crowd, but also just regular people. Some held cardboard signs, but they were in front of the camera and Evan couldn't read them.

Ronald McIntosh held up his hands again and made a keep-it-down motion. When he could speak again, he continued, "Yes, it does appear that there were anomalies at the Manitoba Provincial Genetic Screening Centre. We don't know yet who might have been affected, but I promise you that there will be a full, public investigation into the matter. We'll get to the bottom of this."

From amongst the cacophony, he must have been able to make out a reporter's question.

"No, I have no intention whatsoever of resigning over this. This was two decades ago, and the best thing for the people of Manitoba is to have strong leaders who can find out what happened, and make sure it never happens again."

He was interrupted by a woman bursting out of the crowd. She was dressed in a business suit, and looked not much older than Evan. His cameraman moved until he could get an angle of her from the side. She was crying. Fresh tears and mascara ran down from red eyes.

The crowd hushed again, as though they came to the collective decision to hear what she had to say.

"What did you take from us?" she screamed. "What did you take?"

"Ma'am, nothing was taken from you. I mean, there was nothing, really. You received all the genetic treatments that were, uh, due to you. The extras are really just a matter of, um, semantics. If you think about it. Not relevant, when you get down to brass tacks."

"Not relevant. You changed who we are. You stole our personalities from us."

The woman took another step forward and hurled something at the podium. A can of Pepsi, Evan thought. He watched the blue can turn end over end; the government minister was just able to duck out of the way. Three police officers tackled the woman and started to haul her away.

The crowd surged to follow the woman's struggle and the news broadcast switched back to the studio.

The reporter announced, "We have with us in the studio Dr. Faber, a professor of medical genetics at the University of Manitoba. Dr. Faber, you've had a chance to read the preliminary reports. Can you explain what this all might mean for those affected?"

"Well, first off," the man answered, "I think it's important to caution people not to panic. From what we've seen, all of the necessary genetic procedures had been completed. The sabotage, and I truly hesitate to use that word, appears to have just been related to the more cosmetic aspects of the standard procedures."

He paused, and took a sip from a bottle of Dasani water.

Marty sat on the couch, chin tucked on top of his knees, staring at his brother. "Are you twenty-one, Evan?"

"I will be, next month."

---

Evan sat across the booth from his girlfriend, Abbie. There were sharing a plate of fries after their classes were through for the day, and had hardly said a thing to each other. Abbie was staring at him.

"What?" Evan snapped. People had been looking at him all day, he though. As though they knew he was a freak.

"Nothing."

She looked down at the plate while smooshing a fry around in pool of mayonnaise. She didn't eat it.

"It's just. Well, do you, like, feel any different?"

"Why would I feel any different. Nothing's changed. I'm the same person I've been all my life."

Evan was looking past them at a girl at another booth. She was wearing a red shirt, and laughing at her friends. Abbie turned to follow his gaze.

Her nose wrinkled and she said, "Do you think she's hot? Is she all sexy now?"

Evan made a face. "No. Gross. It's just. Well, if hadn't been for that guy taking bribes. I mean, you and I. We wouldn't be together."

"No, I suppose not," Abbie reached over the table and took his hand.

"And they said everything else is okay. All the normal stuff was done. I saw my report once, when I was younger. I'd have needed glasses by now, probably. And I'd have had a higher than average risk colon cancer and alcoholism without the genetic modifications."

"Well, you're working on the alcoholism anyhow."

"I don't drink that much," he protested, but Abbie was smiling at him.

"It's just so weird to think about," she shivers. "You should have been a coke-head."

"Everyone who was born at Grace Hospital that year should have been. All of us. And the year after."

Evan picked up his glass of Pepsi and considered it. He'd drank Coke once, back in elementary school when three bullies had held him down in the bathroom and forced him to swallow some. Two of them had held his arms while another pried open his teeth. They had all been a few years older than him, and a lot bigger. They poured the Coke in, clamped his jaw shut and then held his nose until he swallowed.

Sitting at the table, remembering, Evan winced. It had tasted the way he imagined urine tasting. When they'd finally let him go, Evan had vomited into a toilet, then drank water from the tap until some of the Coke taste had been washed away. He had been sick for days, and once his parents had convinced him to rat out the other kids, they were each suspended for two days.

"It really doesn't change anything, Evan," Abbie says to him, still holding his hand. She looked worried. "You were supposed to be a Coke drinker, but you're a Pepsi drinker and it all worked out for the best."

"I know. I just feel like that guy who did this to you stole something, you know. Part of my heritage."

"My auntie says this is why corporations shouldn't have been allowed to sponsor gene therapies for newborns. No matter how much money it saved the healthcare system each year."

"Does it really make that much difference? If I was modded to like Pepsi instead of the other way around. I took chemistry. Coke and Pepsi aren't really that different."

Abbie nodded, and they both of them pretended to believe what he said.

---

Evan walked into his house and headed straight to his room. His parents and Marty were sitting in the living room, watching the news.

"They found the guy responsible," said his dad, "He's been living in France but the French police have him. They're going to extradite him. Pepsi is going to be facing some hefty fines, too, for bribing him."

Evan paused in the hall and nodded.

His mother sat with his father's arms around her. "You're still our son, you know. We love you. Nothing is really any different."

"I know, mom."

He walked into his room and closed the door. He opened his school bag and took out the t-shirt he'd bought on the way home. Red, with the Coca-Cola label emblazoned across it. He held it up, touching it with just his thumbs and index fingers.

Evan then stepped in front of his bureau and looked at himself in the mirror. He held the shirt to his chest and tried to imagine himself wearing it.

A sudden bought of nausea hit him and he dropped the shirt, kicked it under his bed.

No, nothing was different. He was who he was. He lay down on his Pepsi blue sheets, and put his pillow in its blue pillowcase over his head.

Things would seem better in the morning.

4 responses to "Week #20 - Product Placement "

Karen wrote: Friday, 25 Apr 2008 14:13 I'm a Pepsi drinker, so naturally, I loved this, and laughed out load a couple times. Gosh, Dana, you're so witty! hahaha

Debs wrote: Friday, 25 Apr 2008 23:36 I used to be a Coke drinker but I've given up pop. Hehe, this is very cute, Dana!

Erinn the Bold wrote: Monday, 28 Apr 2008 17:12 Liked the coke-head line, and the concept.

Astrid wrote: Monday, 09 Jun 2008 12:02 Just loved this story! Is that succinct enough? :-)

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