The Restaurant at the End of the Universe - Douglas Adams [68]
Ford looked around the crowd.
“He’s mad, you know,” he said, “this is a prehistoric planet.”
“Address the chair!” snapped the management consultant.
“There isn’t a chair,” explained Ford, “there’s only a rock.”
The management consultant decided that testiness was what the situation now called for.
“Well, call it a chair,” he said testily.
“Why not call it a rock?” asked Ford.
“You obviously have no conception,” said the management consultant, now abandoning testiness in favor of good old-fashioned hauteur, “of modern business methods.”
“And you have no conception of where you are,” said Ford.
A girl with a strident voice leaped to her feet and used it.
“Shut up, you two,” she said, “I want to table a motion.”
“You mean boulder a motion,” tittered a hairdresser.
“Order, order!” yapped the management consultant.
“All right,” said Ford, “let’s see how you’re doing.” He plunked himself down on the ground to see how long he could keep his temper.
The Captain made a sort of conciliatory harrumphing noise.
“I would like to call to order,” he said pleasantly, “the five hundred and seventy-third meeting of the colonization committee of Fintlewoodlewix….”
Ten seconds, thought Ford, as he leaped to his feet again.
“This is futile,” he exclaimed. “Five hundred and seventy-three committee meetings and you haven’t even discovered fire yet!”
“If you would care,” said the girl with the strident voice, “to examine the agenda sheet—”
“Agenda rock,” trilled the hairdresser happily.
“Thank you, I’ve made that point,” muttered Ford.
“… you… will… see…” continued the girl firmly, “that we are having a report from the hairdressers’ Fire Development Subcommittee today.”
“Oh… ah—” said the hairdresser with a sheepish look, which is recognized the whole Galaxy over as meaning, “Er, will next Tuesday do?”
“All right,” said Ford, rounding on him, “What have you done? What are you going to do? What are your thoughts on fire development?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the hairdresser. “All they gave me was a couple of sticks….”
“So what have you done with them?”
Nervously, the hairdresser fished in his track suit top and handed over the fruits of his labor to Ford.
Ford held them up for all to see.
“Curling tongs,” he said.
The crowd applauded.
“Never mind,” said Ford. “Rome wasn’t burned in a day.”
The crowd hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about, but they loved it nevertheless. They applauded.
“Well, you’re obviously being totally naive of course,” said the girl. “When you’ve been in marketing as long as I have you’ll know that before any new product can be developed it has to be properly researched. We’ve got to find out what people want from fire, how they relate to it, what sort of image it has for them.”
The crowd were tense. They were expecting something wonderful from Ford.
“Stick it up your nose,” he said.
“Which is precisely the sort of thing we need to know,” insisted the girl. “Do people want fire that can be fitted nasally?”
“Do you?” Ford asked the crowd.
“Yes!” shouted some.
“No!” shouted others happily.
They didn’t know, they just thought it was great.
“And the wheel,” said the Captain, “what about this wheel thingy? It sounds a terribly interesting project.”
“Ah,” said the marketing girl, “well, we’re having a little difficulty there.”
“Difficulty?” exclaimed Ford. “Difficulty? What do you mean, difficulty? It’s the single simplest machine in the entire Universe!”
The marketing girl soured him with a look
“All right, Mr. Wiseguy,” she said, “you’re so clever, you tell us what color it should be.”
The crowd went wild. One up to the home team, they thought. Ford shrugged his shoulders and sat down again.
“Almighty Zarquon,” he said, “have none of you done anything?”
As if in answer to his question there was a sudden clamor of noise from the entrance to the clearing. The crowd couldn’t believe the amount of entertainment they were getting this afternoon: in marched a squad of