'Ere, you'd never guess who I 'ad in the back of my cab the other day....Are black cabbies our moral minders?
In light of the news that Nestlé is seeking new agencies to push an ‘online charm offensive’, it raises an interesting question with regards to the priorities and moral decisions behind the work we do. To quote Oscar Wilde, he said of a generation, that ‘you know the price of everything and the value of nothing.’ I’ll let you decide if a situation such as Nestlé’s is a priority of price or value, but I hope this important and sometimes complex decision is addressed in the following exchange:
The Passenger
[The following takes place in a black taxi cab in gridlocked traffic in Soho, London. The heat of summer is magnified by broken electric cab windows. The driver leans his elbow on his open window, but the pane of glass separating the passenger maintains a discomfort of heat in the back of carriage. The driver notices the passenger shifting with a mixture of impatience and discomfort.]
DRIVER: Heading anywhere important?
PASSENGER: Huh? Oh, to a meeting, for some new business.
[The passenger shoots impatient glances left, then right, then left before adjusting his seat to look at the trail of traffic ahead. Cars honk lazily.]
DRIVER: Ah, who’s the business with?
[A brief glance to his wristwatch and the passenger’s patience appeases as he loosens his tie.]
PASSENGER: It’s a cigarette company.
DRIVER: Interesting… So it er, wouldn’t bother you then?
[The passenger’s distraction reigns back to the conversation from the steaming city outside his window.]
PASSENGER: Bother me? What wouldn’t?
DRIVER: Well, I mean, it wouldn’t bother you putting your time to something responsible for, you know, scores of deaths each year?
[The passenger’s gaze meets that of the driver’s in the rear-view mirror, sweat trickles down the furrows of his forehead.]
DRIVER: Forget I asked.
PASSENGER: We’ve all got to earn our keep, right?
DRIVER: But, say, it doesn’t bother you what you’re contributing to?
PASSENGER: …Well alright, let me ask you, does it bother you that you spend your days polluting London? Okay, so it may not be second-hand smoke, but it’s a pollutant nonetheless. You’ve got asthma rates already high and getting higher in inner-city areas, and you’re playing your part pumping that chemical fog into our lungs.
[The passenger offers a smug acknowledgement to his own answer with the straightening of his tie. A moment’s reflection from the driver, calculating the mathematics of the gridlock.]
DRIVER: Don’t forget you’re paying me to do this…
[The driver’s fingers drag sweat on the black steering wheel from where he previously dabbed his balding crown, the car creeps forward.]
…You’re seeking this cigarette company’s business, to promote and protect its reputation, I assume? I’m not saying you’re putting them in the hands of kids or anything, but you sometimes have to think which side of the line in the sand you’re standing on.
[Passenger’s eyes flitter from the meter’s tick to the tick of his wristwatch. Head falling back in a split seconds resignation]
PASSENGER: Maybe priorities get blurred from time to time, I don’t know… Right and wrong can be two of the most confusing words when they’re standing above conflicting priorities. Maybe perception counts for too much now, it can be a dangerous thing. How can we really know the moral sway of a company when even an angel has a devil whispering in one ear? How do we know what’s really at the heart of the decisions which drive it?
[Maybe 20 seconds pass without a word from either, the low hum of talk radio lifts the silence to bearable. Sweat marks visible through a once crisp shirt of the passenger. His breath resumes to settled rhythm. The driver sigsh.]
DRIVER: Well, your last decision isn’t driving you anywhere fast. It might just be quicker if you walk. Call it a tenner.
[The passenger exits the cab and hands a crisp note to the driver. The immediate sun making his first steps tentative, but the motionless traffic allows him an easy escape.
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