If you missed previous segments of the CMEslinger saga, you can read them here:
And now, our latest segment:
Part 5 (Scott)
As Sierra ambled down the spiral staircase that led into the front lobby, the CMEslinger was struck by how much his daughter had changed since the last time he saw her. It had been, what, 9 months since he drove the three hours to Sierra’s trendy loft apartment and took her out for her birthday?
“Geez,” the CMEslinger mumbled to himself. “Guess I should return that ‘World’s No. 1 Dad’ coffee mug.”
Sierra looked, well, different. Her hairstyle, her clothes, her general demeanor – she just didn’t look like the confident, sometimes cocky, young woman the CMEslinger was used to seeing. She looked tired and scared. It was enough to make the CMEslinger want to throw his arms around her like he used to do whenever Sierra came to visit him in the TAXIE offices as a little girl.
“Hi dad,” Sierra said as she hugged the CMEslinger, seemingly more out of obligation that familial affection. “Marge told me you’d probably show up sooner or later. You and your friend. Come on, let’s get on with it.”
A no-nonsense kind of gal. At least something about Sierra was the same.
Sierra signed in her visitors, escorted them to the corporate elevators located down the hall, and hit the button for the 24th floor. When the elevator doors swung open, the CMEslinger and the man in black stepped out and stared in awe. They could see the entire city before them through the bank of glass windows. It was the kind of view most people would pay millions for. But then again, Tower Pharmaceuticals had many, many millions to spend on that sort of thing.
Sierra glared at the duo.
“If you want to play tourist, I can come back in an hour.”
“No, no, of course not,” the CMEslinger stuttered. “Lead the way, darling.”
“Don’t darling me, dad,” Sierra said. “I’m not your little girl, anymore.”
“So much for the teary family reunion,” the man in black muttered out of the side of his mouth.
“I’m no ingenue,” Sierra said, overhearing the man in black’s utterances. “But you already knew that. Come on already.”
Sierra led the trio down the hall to her office, adorned with a brass nameplate and a caricature of Velma, the sassy detective from the Scooby Doo cartoons. As her door swung open, Marge glared at the CMEslinger and the man in black.
“It took you long enough to get here,” Marge said. “I’m almost done my part. Now it’s up to you…and her…to save the day.”
“Almost done what? And what are we saving?” the CMEslinger said.
“You mean, you…they…” Marge said, looking inquisitively up at Sierra.
“No, I never called them,” Sierra said. “I didn’t want to… well, I was embarrassed.”
“Well then, I guess you better start from the beginning,” Marge said. “You boys better sit down. Storytelling time will let me finish up my part of this job before I hightail it out of here. I assume the folks back at TAXIE are pretty nervous right about now.”
It was all a bit much for the CMEslinger and the man in black to take in. But before they could start asking questions, Sierra had taken their arms in hers and walked them over to the cushioned sofa in the corner of her office. She pulled up her desk chair beside them and started to speak.
“Four years ago, the annual ACCME Data Report came out and, as usual, I immediately put my work aside to check out the financial state of our industry. And as usual, it was depressing. Registration fees were down 5%. Advertising and exhibits down 7%. Commercial support down 10%. It was the same story year after year. Depressing depressing depressing.
“So I went home, heated up a mug of tea and sat down in front of the television to watch the 76ers game with my journal in front of me. And that’s when it happened. Another ad for Linvolus, Tower Pharma’s ‘diabetes wonder drug.’ A midcourt Tower Pharma logo right in front of the 76ers bench. Tower Pharma patches on the uniforms of the 76ers players.
“I did some digging online and found that Tower Pharma had spent $510 million on direct-to-consumer advertisements for Linvolus alone in the United States that year. I’m sure those corporate sponsorships were in the hundreds of millions as well. Guess what they spent, at least according to their corporate transparency report, on CME programming for diabetes? $4 million. Total.
“I was tired of being underappreciated, but I was on the provider side of our world, so what could I do? So I made it my goal to come here and make things right. Six months later, I was hired.”
“But why didn’t you tell me, or anyone, all of this when you left TAXIE?” asked the CMEslinger.
“Remember what you told me when I came home with a black eye and a bloody lip after getting into a fight with Jessica Bronwell, that mean girl down the street, when I was 9 years old?” Sierra asked.
“Yeah, she was 3 years older than you and was twice your size,” the CMEslinger replied. “What did you expect?”
“But did you remember exactly what you said to me?” Sierra said.
“Sure, I told you the same thing my old man told me when I was a kid,” the CMEslinger said. “’Never get into a fight you have no chance of winning.’”
“Exactly,” Sierra replied. “I knew that one person fighting for dollars within Big Pharma seemed like the same situation, and I knew everyone was going to tell me that I was wasting my time, but it just felt like something I had to do. Not just for me, but for everyone who worked in CME for so long. For Marge. For the man in black. For you.”
“I see,” the CMEslinger said.
Tears started forming in the corner of Sierra’s eyes.
“And the worst part of it all is that you were right. I’ve been here for three years now and keep banging my head into the same wall over and over. I’ve worked hour after hour crunching data from providers, showing hard facts on the beneficial effect our limited budget is having on the healthcare team and the care of diabetes patients, arguing to my bosses that they don’t need another 30-second Linvolus commercial during the NBA playoffs. But I’m getting nowhere.
“Two weeks ago, I finally had enough. There was an advertising team outside my office filming a new commercial that is going to air during the Super Bowl – I read that we’re paying $10 million for 30 seconds of airtime. That is nearly three times my annual budget gone – poof – in about the time it takes you to drink one of your pickletinis.
“So I did something really, really stupid one morning. I called up one of my buddies in IT and had him override the budgetary limits of my grant approvals. I had been saving 15 of the best proposals that were submitted to me last year in the hopes I would miraculously convince my bosses to push more funding my way. In one fell swoop, I approved them all. $10 million worth of grants. Exactly what we’re paying for the Super Bowl commercial.”
“And that’s when you called in your emergency team,” the CMEslinger said. “Marge.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Sierra said. “I knew that as soon as anyone with their hands on the department budget found out about what I did, the best thing that could happen was that I would be fired. I ducked every email and phone call from the providers whose proposals I had funded and avoided countersigning any LOAs. But that wasn’t going to last long.”
Now it was the man in black’s turn to chime in.
“And so the two of you have been doing what, exactly?” he asked. “You realize that you pulled Marge away from TAXIE during their most crucial time of the year? They may lose their accreditation.”
“I know,” Sierra said. “And I feel awful about that. But we’re not stupid. Marge told me exactly how long she would be able to spend helping me here. We’ve been squeezing every ounce of energy into our value proposition to try to convince our executives once and for all that we’re worth investing in.”
“I’ll be leaving in a few minutes,” Marge interjected. “TAXIE will be fine. I have all of my files in pristine condition. I knew you would eventually figure out I was here and that you would come to save the day. Which you’ll be doing very soon.”
“Save the day? How exactly am I going to save the day?” asked the CMEslinger incredulously. “Besides you, I don’t know anyone else who works here. I don’t have any influence on any decisions this company makes.”
“You’re right, dad,” Sierra said. “You won’t be saving the day, at least not this time.”
Sierra locked eyes with Marge before swiveling to point her finger at the man sitting beside the CMEslinger, at the man in black.
“He will.”
CMEPALOOZA 