various social gatherings. He was passionate about his job, and would argue that advertisers simply told people about the goods they had on offer, that they presented the consumer with a choice. There was no coercion involved. The information was presented in an attractive, possibly humorous, hopefully persuasive, way that showed the product in a favourable light, but it was no more than that. âBut you tell liesâ was often the response. âNo, we donât. Weâre not allowed to tell lies. Commercials are taken off air if theyâre considered dishonest, or if they offend the public in any way.â If these people persisted with their accusations, heâd continue along the lines of: âWe live in a capitalist society, and advertising is a small but essential cog that helps all the other cogs turn. If you donât believe in advertising, then you donât believe in capitalism.â And heâd put on his most charming, inviting smile, and that would generally be that. Sometimes, however, they came back at him with more esoteric arguments, and heâd be ready for those too. They could be about the ownership of goods being a replacement for the acquisition of wisdom; or about the happiness some people experience when they spend money resulting in the stifling of their ability to identify with the beauties of nature. And heâd point out that advertising couldnât be blamed for such things. âItâs a choice people make of their own free will. Youâre surely not telling me that I and my colleagues are making your life decisions for you?â No one was likely to admit to this, and so finally they would be able to move on to other topics of conversation.
He wasnât, however, of the opinion that he should have to defend his profession against John King, who was surely down there near the bottom of the list of most despised professions â along with lawyers, used car salesmen, politicians and bankers.
âTell me, John,â leaning forward against the table, âwhy do estate agents still insist on underquoting properties? I know itâs to draw in the crowds, but â¦â
âWe donât underquote, Hugh.â
âThatâs not what Iâve heard.â
The estate agent looked taken aback by this unexpected antagonism. âProperties are going for above the quoted price because the marketâs so strong right now. Demand is pushing up prices. Hugh, itâs hardly our fault if people are outbidding each other.â
Kate whispered to him in the kitchen, when they were serving up a new course and opening more wine, âSheâs convinced heâs the one.â Hugh raised an eyebrow. Jodie wasnât his favourite person, but surely she could do better than that. Maybe John was rich? Heâd brought some expensive enough wines with them, that was for sure. âSheâs very keen on him.â Left unsaid by Kate was, âSo be nice to him.â
Hugh was finding the meal too much of an effort. He stared morosely across the table. Kate and Jodie were discussing some childhood friend of theirs who had left her husband for a Russian criminal. They were both laughing. Itâs all right for them, he thought, theyâre having a good time . How come I get stuck with this baby-faced bricks and mortar salesman?
âYou know what I can never work out â¦â A little voice inside his head told him that what he was about to say was not advisable, but it was so immersed in alcohol he could barely hear it. And anyway, he wanted to prick that veneer (or could it possibly be real?) of bonhomie and positivism. âItâs how â¦â He struggled to search for the words that would express the rest of the thought, but now, quite suddenly, he was unable to remember what that thought had been.
It turned out John was reading his thoughts. âHow we make so much money? Is that your question, Hugh? We also make a
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