6. Sweet Child O' Mine

At the reception desk, I say: "Good morning. Miss Chelsea is here. For the commercial."

"Oh, yes, how nice. Mr Doria told me you were coming. I will call him right away. He's in the studio, preparing the set. He'll be here in five minutes. Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea? Water?"

Chelsea, behind my back, welcomes the offer: "Finally, someone who offers me something to drink. I'm running around all day like crazy, but Mister Arse over here doesn't even think of eating and drinking. I want a BrandiX cola. With ice. And a slice of lemon. And a smile. In a wide glass, like on TV."

The lady at the reception doesn't even blink: "I will bring it right away, Miss. Would you like something, Sir? Coffee? Tea? Water?"

I ask for a coffee, black, no sugar. Chelsea and I take a seat on one of the leather sofas in the waiting area. Chelsea looks at all the bling-bling in the hall (letting you wait and serving you coffee is a psychological trick of companies: not only do they try to impress you with their framed successes, but also do they make you feel obliged to return a favour to your friendly friends, who so generously offer you water, with or without taste), but I look through the glass façade to the real world outside. On the street, a puppy is playing with its tail. The wind blows an empty plastic bottle into its attention. The bottle easily wins the interest-contest from the tail: it's colourful and shining, makes noise, moves in mysterious ways, and it has smell and taste too. The designers of the bottle knew it would be a perfect, irresistible toy for puppies. The puppy chases it, bites it, jumps on it from every side, and is most happy when it discovers the fun of taking the tap in its mouth, shaking the bottle like a cocktail mixer. Mother Nature smiles at me when I realise her lesson: playing is learning, learning is fun, and it helps us to develop useful qualities and skills.

The lady serves our drinks with a smile. Chelsea is impressed: "Why are we here?"

"What was our mission for today? You wanted more followers on Facebook. And what's the best way to get more interest? Marketing. We're here to shoot a commercial, and you're the star.", I say.

"Yeah? Really? Duh! You're kidding me, right?"

"What does this place look like? It's the head office of one of the biggest marketing companies in Spain. They launch publicity campaigns for all the major brands, they design logos, they come up with the most popular slogans, and they invent all those songs little children sing every week at music class. After the USA, Spain has the highest percentage of commercials per hour. If you want more followers on Facebook, there's only one place to go: here."

"wow…"

It looks like I've scored another point on Chelsea's Look-At-Me-I'm-Fabulous-scale. After today's fatal false start, things can only become better. I've learnt from my mistakes. She's the star. I'm the driver. Give her what she wants, and I'll get back what's important for me.

There's Mister Doria. He shakes hands with Chelsea, with a kiss on each cheek and a jovial: "Hello, sweet child o' mine. So you are our star for today? And what a lovely star you are, shining like I could never imagine. I'm Mister Doria, the CEO of C.I.U. Marketing. Please, here's my business card. C.I.U. stands for Coitus Interrupt Us. Our principal weapon in the war for attention is our financial power to interrupt TV programs just before the climax, to get maximum exposure for the products our clients want to push into the market. They say that sex sells, but you have to make people horny first, ha, ha. Please call me Adrián. Will you be so kind to follow me, sweet child? We have prepared everything. All you need is a little make-up and a change of clothes… but, honestly, if I look at you, you're stunning in that black dress, your hair is already perfect, even the shoes are perfect… Let's forget about the make-up and the dressing room. Let's go to the studio right away. I'm delighted to have you here…"

As could be expected, I'm ignored completely. I don't care. Today, Chelsea is the bright and shiny star. Adrián Doria knows it, and he also knows I know about a certain small secret bank account in a certain small paradise. Knowledge is power.

I know there are two kinds of people. There are people who talk, and there are people who listen. People who listen are interested in others. People who talk are only interested in themselves. Mister Doria talks.

"So the little señorita comes from America? Beautiful country, America. I love America. The «US» in our company name «Coitus Interrupt US» refers to the United States. I studied marketing in America. In Boston. I hated Boston. It's full of awful people. But they taught me a lot about marketing there. American scientists discovered that, when you tell people the same lie 200 times, they stop thinking and start to believe it's true? We repeat our lies 2.000 times, or 20.000 times, according to the available budget. That's the power of marketing. They say you can't change people, but we prove we can, every day, with 12 minutes every hour on each of the 123 TV channels, and with so many billboards that no driver can keep his eyes on the road. Repeat, repeat, repeat, and you can sell ice cream to the polar bears, ha, ha."

Lies pay off. Bend the truth often enough, and you'll believe it yourself. Mister Doria believes in himself. He's the prototype of a successful man: handsome, well-dressed, and confident. Above all, he's generous, sharing his knowledge about his success with us like we're long-lost friends: "Marketing isn't rocket science. I've learnt that in your country, sweet child o' mine, in America. When you study there, they make it all so simple. Short lines. Two words. That's enough. It's easy. Don't think. Buy. Enjoy. It works. That's how you become the number one. You bomb your customers with the same message, over and over again. Why do you think our work is called «a campaign», with «a strategy»? Because there's a war going on, little señorita. We have to conquer a market, fight for the interest of the customer, battle for a bigger market share, and if we win, the profit will be so high that we can easily invest it in the next campaign, because the consumer has a short-time memory, his interest lasts only seven seconds, and then he wants something else again, so we give him something else, because our competition isn't sleeping, and they want to sell their products too, ha, ha.

» It's all science. We hire the best brains money can buy. The latest Nobel Prize for Economy was for a man who found out that consumers behave irrationally. They should have given the Nobel to us, not just because we knew that already but because we created it, ha, ha. But I don't want this to become too technical for you, sweet child. I know, if I want to keep your interest, I should keep my story interesting for you. So, what do you like? You like to party. Am I right?"

Chelsea can only nod with awe. Marketing is, above all, a monologue. Mister Doria's monologue was all about himself, which is boring, but he's an expert who knows when it's time to add a little laugh. Now, he talks about himself from his client's point of view, and she likes parties: "Marketing is simple.

» You're a woman and you see a handsome guy at a party. You go up to him and say, «I'm fantastic in bed.» That's Direct Marketing.

» You're at a party with a bunch of friends and see a handsome guy. One of your friends goes up to him and, pointing at you, she says, «She's fantastic in bed.» That's Advertising.

» You see a handsome guy at a party. You go up to him and get his telephone number. The next day you call and say, «Hi, I'm fantastic in bed.» That's Telemarketing.

» You see a guy at a party. You smile at him, walk up to him, and pour him a drink. You say, «May I?» and reach up to straighten his tie, brushing your breast lightly against his arm, and then say, «By the way, I'm fantastic in bed.» That's Public Relations.

» You're at a party and see a handsome guy. He walks up to you and says, «I hear you're fantastic in bed.» That's Brand Recognition.

» You're at a party and see a handsome guy. He fancies you, but you talk him into going home with your friend. That's a Sales Rep.

» Your friend can't satisfy him, so he calls you. That's Tech Support.

» You're on your way to a party when you realise there could be handsome men in all these houses you're passing, so you climb onto the roof and shout at the top of your lungs, "I'm fantastic in bed!" That's Facebook.

» You are at a party; this older man with an orange toupee walks up to you and grabs your ass and your pussy. That's how you become a President.

» And when you've had so much fun at all those parties, you don't care that the public opinion thinks you're a slut and a trollop because twenty years later, your solicitor decides you were offended, and you are awarded a settlement. That's how you become a MILLIONAIRE!

» And all that is what you learn when you study marketing in America! It's great. It's fantastic. America First! Do you know what «doing a Leicester» means, sweet child o' mine?"

Mister Doria doesn't wait for an answer; he has all the right answers prepared already. But Chelsea is fast. She's not used to keeping her mouth shut so long, and she jumps in to let this awful man know she's not a dumb tomato-blond American model but an intelligent young adult who will go to Harvard next year: "It means that, against all the odds of physical and economic power, you do the impossible, like winning the Premier League Championship of football with a group of cheap players."

I'm surprised, but Mister Doria doesn't blink an eye. He goes on with his monologue: "That's correct. In marketing, we use that saying a lot, to convince people that the impossible will become possible. It's like selling lottery tickets: you know half of the price is profit, but you show only the one winner, making the millions of losers believe they have a chance. But our own strategy is called «doing a Chelsea», which means that if you have enough money, you'll always win. You buy every outstanding player, both to make your own team stronger and your opponent weaker. You buy success. It's the scientific way to guarantee your easy win. Business is not a sport you play for the beauty of the game. You play for a result. You play for real. You play like Real; you buy everything that moves, and pay so much money that only a few can follow you: PSG, F.C. Bayern, Barcelona, Juventus and three or four English clubs are now the only ones left in the rat race. When prices for one player go up to 700 million, one after another will go bankrupt. In the end, only the strongest, the fittest, the most unique, the one with most economic power, will have the monopoly of everything and win the Champions League for 100 years in a row. You buy success just as easy as you buy the presidency of a country. When you have money and attention, your way to the top, to being unique, is guaranteed. That's our business policy: doing a Chelsea. But we shouldn't talk about football all the time. We must annoy the little señorita."

I'm a bodyguard. It's my job to protect this little señorita against unfair attacks from humiliating foreigners with too high an opinion of themselves. I step into Mister Doria's fire-line and take a bullet for her: "The little señorita would prefer if you use her name instead of childish insinuations about her size and her age. She's not a nameless part of the crowd; she's a unique individual, and her name is Chelsea."

Chelsea gives me a grateful smile, happy I'm defending her against this awful man, who just talks talks talks about himself and his success, without paying any attention to her, Chelsea, who came here to be the star of the day…

Mister Doria stops, wonders where the candid camera is, grins like a grey gorilla, and says: "You're joking."

"When I'd be joking, everyone would laugh. I'm serious. Her first name is Chelsea, her family name is Power, and her middle name is Success. Why do you think we're here? We want the world to know her potential. Marketing and advertising are perfect tools to conquer the world.", I explain.

Mister Doria doesn't apologise for his behaviour. He's an optimist, which is the best attitude for every salesman: "So… I've made a mistake. Well, mistakes happen. Don't look back. Look forward. Forget all the mistakes you make. It's just water under the Stamford Bridge. Concentrate on the future. It can only get better. That's my motto."

«Learn from your mistakes so you won't make them again, and learn from the mistakes of others so you don't have to make them yourself.», that's my motto. But I don't say that, of course.

Mister Doria is a man of success. He doesn't think very long about the stupid mistakes he makes. He doesn't even mean it when he apologises to Chelsea: "I'm really sorry about the Miss Understanding, Miss Chelsea. I hope you understand it's just words. We can tell you about all the success we can create for you and your name, but words don't mean a thing. Only what we do is important. I'll show you what we can do for you. It's right here."

We enter a studio with a kitchen in the corner, all set to shoot scenes.

"What are we going to do here?", Chelsea asks.

"We're going to cook. You're going to cook…", Mister Doria smiles.

"WHAT! Are you kidding? Don't you know who I am? I'm from America. In America, we don't cook. We order. Cooking is slave labour. We have illegal aliens to do our cooking. What's next? Are you going to shoot home videos of me while I'm having so much fun cleaning your floor or washing your clothes? You are a sexist pig, Mister. Women have a lot more potential than standing in your kitchen and cleaning your shit and being your sex slave!"

A silence falls between us and fills the entire kitchen. Mister Doria has just ruined it all. He's supposed to understand: Chelsea is the star. He's just the driver, paid to take her where she wants to go, instead of talk talk talk about himself and his message: "Look at me, I'm FABULOUS!"

But it's not Mister Doria's fault. It's mine. I set this up. I'm the one who's running from one disaster to another. Nobody but me is responsible for picking this awful man and this awful place with this awful idea that Chelsea would love it when her face would be on 50 million TVs, three times per hour, 24/7, during the next three years. I was wrong. And if I don't correct my mistake immediately, the Third World War is just one bad temper away.

I put my arm around Chelsea's shoulder, drag her away towards a little privacy, and tell her with a low and kind voice: "Don't shout at him, Chelsea. He's not worth it. You'll only feel worse yourself. Do you notice how upset you are? That awful man did that to you. He's a salesman; he wanted you to change and… you did. He treated you like he treats all the others, not knowing you're unique. He made you angry. So what? You are high above him. He doesn't know you. He doesn't know who you are, and he doesn't know your potential. I do. I believe in you. You are Chelsea. You are much stronger than he is…"

She calms down: "I'm not like all those others."

"Of course not. You are unique. You are THE most unique. But he was right in one thing: cooking is fun. Cooking is fun because the food you prepare yourself is always better than what others make. It's fun, and it's easy. I used to help my mother in the kitchen when I was little. Cooking is still one of my favourite hobbies. Everybody likes it when you invite them for a special, home-cooked lunch or dinner, something unique, a special favour with your special flavour, and they can only get it at your place, when they are nice to you, and ask it with respect…"

"Something unique…", Chelsea sighs.

Chelsea is just like everybody else: she wants to be wanted, she needs to be needed and she loves to be loved.

But nobody ever showed her how.

We get our education from two sides: mums and media. Media are companies, led by men, machines to make money without any responsibility for their activities and the effect they have on the world around them. Chelsea didn't have a mother; she was raised by the media; she was raised by her father, who was never there. Fathers are the Stick. Mothers are the Carrot. I still have a chance…

"Didn't you like to bake cookies with your mother? Didn't you make muffins together? Didn't she ever ask you to help her prepare dinner? Eating together is nicer than eating alone, but cooking together is nice too."

Another sigh, deeper this time: "I had this tea set. Mom and I used to play with it. But not like other mothers do with their children. We had a Boston Tea Party. Do you know what a Boston Tea Party is? You take every bottle of liquor you can find in the house (and in our house, we had lots of bottles). With each bottle, you fill one of the little teacups. Then you pour all that tea into the teapot and you empty the teapot in one drink. After that, if you can stand up and walk away, you win. My mother always won. She didn't even allow me to taste it."

"Every first Saturday of the month, we used to have Pancake Day."

"Yeah. We had Pancake Day every Wednesday. And when we were done, we sold the product to the tyre shop at the end of the street. It was a success…"

I count to ten… eleven… twelve… one hundred twenty-three… four thousand three hundred twenty-one… It doesn't help.

"You didn't choose your mother, Chelsea. She chose to have you, but she chose before she found out how much responsibility it takes to raise a child. And she had to do it all by herself. Your father was never there. He was always working because he wanted the best for you and your mother. Sometimes, even adult people make mistakes. Mister Doria made quite a lot of mistakes. Don't be angry about what he did wrong; use him for what he does right. We need him. Everybody can contribute something, even when he's as stupid as awful Adrián Doria. He's a salesman. Let him do miracles for your Facebook account. You don't have to like him, and you're right, he isn't my cup of tea either, but he can make other people «like» you. That's why we're here. Show me you're smarter than he is."

Chelsea is calm again. The carrot, sweet and nutritious, full of vitamins, is an indispensable ingredient when you're cooking up plans.

We turn back to the set, where Mister Doria gives another proof of his slogan «don't look back, just look forward»: "You don't have to like cooking, Miss, as long as you like what we can do for you with this little cooking commercial. Let me give you a demonstration. We predict your success because we can predict the future. Here, we have the three most important doors of every house. Behind every door, you'll find something we've selected for you, based on your unique personality. Please, Miss, can you tell me your favourite drink?"

Emotionless, Chelsea answers the question: "BrandiX cola, the one and only."

"And your favourite dinner?"

"MacAbre Twenty Pounder, I'm shoving it inside." Her attitude shifts from X to + (cross to positive), from >:-X to :-), thanks to the happy childhood-meal memories these products produce in her sub-conscience.

"Thank you, and our third and last question is: what's your favourite dessert?"

"The exclusive Polar Bear ice cream, they're hard to get.", Chelsea answers, with a broad smile.

"Now let's open door one, the refrigerator…"

(a bottle of BrandiX cola smiles at us)

"… Door number two, the magnetron…"

(an original MacAbre hamburger welcomes us like we're lost children, returning home)

"… And door number three, the freezer."

(a family-size box of Polar Bears ignores every rumour about their extinction).

"We knew what you were going to say. Was it magic? No. It was science. It was marketing. We have the best scientists working for us because we pay more. And we can pay more because we always make more money than we spend. And we always make a profit because we're the best at convincing people to give their money to us. After all, we've hired the best scientists to find the weak spots of every consumer. That's «doing a Chelsea». That's what we do for you, Miss Chelsea. We make people change their opinion about you.

» We gave you three questions, but we already knew your answers because… we planted those answers in your head, with all the commercials you grew up with… You thought it was your free will. Was it? Automatically, you even added our slogans… You can't use our slogans without paying royalties, Miss. We wrote those lines. We own the copyright. We own the language. But this time, we forgive you, for being such a perfect consumer. Let's do another test. Laura, por favor…"

Laura puts two bottles and two empty glasses on the table in front of Chelsea.

"Please, Miss Chelsea. Try both and tell me which one is your favourite BrandiX cola."

Chelsea tries, and tries again, and finally decides: "It's a trick, right? Both are the same. This one is BrandiX cola with two drops of lemon and this one is BrandiX cola with 1% extra sugar. You want me to choose, to prove I'm just a silly consumer who has no taste. I was born and raised with BrandiX cola. When I was two months old, my mother mixed her own milk with BrandiX cola because she was afraid I wouldn't get all the healthy ingredients every baby needs to grow up like a responsible mother wants. You can't fool me."

With a triumphant smile, Mister Doria removes the covers of the labels: the right bottle is BrandiX cola; the left one is Hacendaño cola, the cheap house brand of one of the leading Spanish supermarkets. Mister Doria applauds and confesses: "You, Miss Chelsea, are amazing. Both bottles contain the same drink, but over 90% of the testers are convinced there is a difference.

» Marketing doesn't make any product better; marketing just makes everything more expensive. And that, indeed, is the difference: the left bottle costs one euro and the right bottle costs three euros. The difference is two euros of illusion that we planted into the brain of the consumer, one euro more profit for the owner of BrandiX and one euro more profit for us. The consumer thinks he has a choice, between BrandiX and Hacendaño, but both come from the same company; he can't escape us because we dominate the market. We have the monopoly. It's science. It works. All those unique individuals out there want the same: they want to eat and drink more, they want to have everything, especially things others can't afford, they want to be more beautiful and sexy and desired, they want to be successful, the best, the number one, America First, and they want all that as a result of doing as little as possible. That's impossible, that's «Doing a Leicester», but thanks to our repeated messages, it's irresistible. Why is our message irresistible?"

I already know the answer. I have other words for all those desires that advertisers provoke in our sub-conscience: gluttony, greed, envy, lust, pride and sloth. Their message is irresistible because they speak directly to our animal instincts, to the defence systems Mother Nature gave us to protect us in a world of hunger, diseases and aggressive predators, to help only the fittest survive. But our world has changed. Not hunger but overweight, not extinction but overpopulation threatens our species. Wrath, the most aggressive predator, the only missing Deadly Sin, is the subject of the news and the violent films that fill up the space between those commercials. Marketing refers directly to our animal instincts. Marketeers brainwash us, the consumers, as if we are stupid monkeys. Nobody cares about the effects that their successful business has on our society. Economy is the Holy Religion that justifies it all. Human Qualities like friendship and modesty are deadly for the captains of industry, who measure their egos against the amount of money they make. But nobody is interested in my opinion. The majority decides, and the majority desires.

It makes me sad that we, the human race, are no longer capable of resisting the temptations of the animal inside us… We lose our human identity. We sell our human birthright because there's so much on offer and we can't live without it. Our human intelligence is not strong enough to save us from extinction, caused by our selfish animal stupidity. We fall back to the existence-level of food, sex, fight and laziness; survival of the richest Lion King of the Jungle. Our best scientists work together to limit our general interests to selfishness and consumption. Two billion Facebook users «like» each other, not because we do wonderful things but because we all shout "Look at ME! I'm FABULOUS!" at each other. It's the end of the world, but I can't do anything to save us because I'm on a mission to stop one tribe of cavemen killing another tribe of cavemen.

If only we'd do nothing; if only we'd stop paying taxes to the ones who need our money to fight wars; if only we'd stop buying from the ones who need our money to do wrong; if only we'd stop paying attention to the ones who give us all the wrong examples… We don't even have to do good, just do nothing and stop supporting all that evil… One man can't do that alone; one man can't save the world. We have to do it together. We have to change. But people don't change. All I can do is change myself, concentrate on my mission, my piece of the puzzle, and trust others to solve the rest, our leaders, our presidents, our captains of industry who can inspire humanity with their messages of peace and—

Mr Doria wasn't done yet: "Why is our message irresistible?"

"Duh! Because we need all those things to have a good time. Everybody wants to be the best of the best of the best."

"Exactly. But they can't have a good time. If they want to have a good time, they have to be like you. You're the best of the best of the best. You are unique. You are FABULOUS! They adore you. Everybody wants to be like you, because they want to be unique too, without realising that «unique» means there can only be one. You, Miss Chelsea. With the little commercial we're about to shoot right now, which we'll show three times per hour, 24/7, on 50 million TV screens, during the next three years, the world will understand, finally, what «unique» means."

"THE most unique."

The peace treaty is signed. Mister Doria is good at his work. He's a professional. He doesn't waste more time; "You stand over here. I want that camera for the close-ups and those two for the overview. I want this kitchen filled with every possible ingredient, all nicely cut and sliced on white designer plates. Make sure there's enough white space around the cooking device, to give it more attention. We're not selling a product here, people; we're selling a dream, an illusion. Miss Chelsea has just given me a great idea for the commercial: I hate cooking, that's why I like Tostado so much. Are we ready?"

A handsome, no, stunning eye-blinding beautiful young man takes his place next to Chelsea, smiling his bright white teeth to the camera while he moves his delicate manicured hand through his perfectly coiffured hair.

Mister Doria jumps like a ping-pong ball and shouts: "What are you doing? Did I call you? We don't need a Wild Boy in this scene. We're not here to sell a toaster; we're here to make Miss Chelsea shine. How can she shine when you make her stand in your sexy shadow? Get out of here. Don't you people know anything? Where's my grandmother? She has to do this scene. Don't you worry, Miss Chelsea. We have it all under control. You just have a chat with my grandmother and show her how easy it is to work with this fantastic machine, the Tostada. You hate to cook, but with the Tostada it's so easy. Just act naturally. Forget we're here…"

Misses Doria Senior gives Chelsea a hug and two kisses: "Hello, dear. Please, call me Adriana. And don't let my grandson make you nervous. He's always like that, playing like he's a famous director and so on. When he was four years old, he liked to dress like he was Napoleon or Snow White. One day, he gave a show for the entire family, dressed like the Emperor of Rome, all wrapped up in a large white towel, standing on the dinner table, but his towel fell to the ground and he was standing there naked with his little—"

"Abuela, please… We have work to do. Can we concentrate on the product?"

"Oh, yes, the Tostada. You'll love it, dear. Do you like pizza? Well, pizza is just bread and cheese and tomato and a bit of topping. This Tostada is the same: you take two slices of bread, you put one on each half of the Tostada, then you put all your favourite ingredients on it. Close the machine, turn the heat on and one minute later, you have the most delicious sandwich you've ever tasted."

"Don't call it a sandwich. Use the name of the product. It's called a Tostada. Every monkey can make a sandwich. We're not selling sandwiches. We're selling Tostada. People need to buy the product.", Mister Doria shouts, turning from white to crimson.

Adriana ignores him and gives Chelsea a naughty wink: "I like mine with cheese and onion. Sometimes I'll make one with tuna and olives. But right now, I'm going to make my favourite Tostada: it has blue cheese, mayonnaise, lettuce, sliced tomato, Spanish onions and… an authentic Twenty Pounder hamburger. You see how easy it is? Just one button, one minute and… Voila. No French chef can do a better job. Doesn't it smell delicious? A pity this is TV, just sound and image, no smell and taste. Take a bite and tell me… Is this better than anything you've tasted before?"

Chelsea looks suspicious, but she can't resist the promising smell. She takes a bite and…

"This is awesome! This is… this is… Awesome!"

Well, if the MacAbre Twenty Pounder is your favourite meal, and if you put all the ingredients of the MacAbre Twenty Pounder between two hot plates of the Tostado, you might get this result… I should try to be less sarcastic. Lots of people like fast food. Chelsea likes it, and the Tostada changed her attitude about cooking too.

"May I… May I try to make one myself, Adriana?"

"Of course, my dear. It's fun, it's easy, and it's delicious. What would you like to put on it?"

Chelsea has transformed into an authentic chef now: "I hate cooking, but… I like this… Tostada. I can do this. It's easy. It's fun. One slice of bread on each side… Then you add your favourite ingredients… Where's the peanut butter? I can't find the mint chocolate either. Aren't there any fresh strawberries? What kind of a kitchen is this? Don't you people know nothing?"

Mister Doria jumps up and down like a kangaroo: "Peanut butter and strawberries? You know nothing about cooking. You can't mix brown flavours with fruit flavours. You make either a sandwich with nuts OR with chocolate OR with fruits, but you can't combine opposites like that. It's against—"

His grandmother interrupts his awful behaviour: "Adrian, dear. Don't call it a sandwich. Use the name of the product: it's called Tostada! And the lady asked you something. She wants peanut butter, mint chocolate, and strawberries. Now go and get it for her. Arguing won't get you anywhere."

Mister Doria goes from dark red to purple, but he is the junior of his senior grandmother and gives instructions to his crew. Adriana and Chelsea have a good time with the Tostada: "I use this Tostada every day. When you're my age and you live in a residence (that's how they call the prisons for the elderly people here), they don't allow you to cook for yourself. They say it's for reasons of security, to avoid old folks putting their heads in an oven, or causing fires and explosions. But this Tostada is a perfect solution: all it needs is one electric socket and very little space to store it. When my grandchildren come and visit me (she throws an angry look at Adrián, who should visit her more often), I always make their favourite Tostadas for them. Eating together is one of the nicest things in life, don't you think?"

The secret ingredients for Chelsea's culinary creation arrive. Fresh strawberries in December… I'm impressed.

Chelsea briefs Adriana about the latest trends on cooking in America: "Some culinary barbarians think this is impossible, but we in America do it all the time: we take the rules of the French chefs, we throw them in the dumpster, and we invent something better. Cooking has no boundaries. Cooking is all about personal taste. Everybody likes peanuts. Everybody loves mint chocolate. Don't you just adore fresh strawberries with whipped cream…? Do you think we should put a little whipped cream on top?"

"Let's try this first, dear. At least, it's… surprising. But that's the fun of the Tostada: it takes only one minute to find out, and if you don't like it, you can always throw it away and try something else. It looks like you're already a Chef… It smells delicious."

Abuela Adriana is doing a great job. Not only does she give Chelsea the confidence to star in her first commercial, but also does she promote everything with natural ease and grace. Chelsea puts her (Peanut butter - Mint chocolate - Strawberry) PMS-Tostada on a plate, cuts it into pieces, and offers a bite to everyone in the studio. Nobody can resist, afraid to be fired by Mister Doria.

"Ah." - "This is something different." - "Indeed, it is." - "I would like another piece, Miss." - "A little salt and vinegar would not hurt." - "A bite of garlic would make it even better." - "Worcester sauce would be my suggestion." - "Are you crazy? Ketchup is what's needed here."

Chelsea herself is quite happy with all the positive reactions. She offers me the last piece, but I pass; I'm on a mission until midnight, and I can't afford to take the afternoon off for being sick. Finally, Chelsea tastes it herself. She chews, thinks, and decides: "It needs whipped cream. I told you. With whipped cream, it will be a sensation like you've never tasted in your life. Chelsea's PMS-Tostada will become the world's number one choice. We'll open a special Tostada restaurant in my hometown Boston, and after it's a success, we'll open a worldwide chain of them. It will become a lifestyle. When people ask each other about their plans for the weekend, they'll say «We're going to do a Chelsea», which means they will prepare a Peanut butter - Mint chocolate - Strawberry Tostada with whipped cream. Forget about all those rules. My new generation will make a difference. Don't you think so, Adriana?"

Adriana doesn't think. Adriana is on fire. Blinded by the success of her creation, Chelsea forgot she was creating another one, and if you don't open the Tostada after one minute, when that little light goes out, it keeps feeding heat to the peanut-chocolate-strawberry-sandwich between its dragon teeth, which results in an entire new gastronomic technique where burning peanut butter and melted mint chocolate find the wide cotton dress of an elderly lady, who screams, turns, and breaks a bottle of aceite de oliva extra virgen, the most famous olive oil of Andalucía, that ignites a plate of fat Red Herring, while her attempts to put out the flames by emptying two bottles of wine and a bottle of peach liquor cause the typical cosy atmosphere of a Spanish house warming, splashing the sparks around on the clothes of the gathered crew, which announces the start of the dance, and the fireworks of throwing a little extra oil on the fire are a guarantee for a dance party like not even the inventors of the Tostada could foresee: in less than a minute, the roof is on fire.

It's true what they say about people from Andalucía: they don't need an excuse to organize a party, you're always warmly welcome, there's food and drinks, and everybody's having fun. Although Chelsea and I feel like two strangers at somebody else's wedding, like two uninvited bystanders, this innocent joy ignites even my bothered mind. Life is short. Enjoy it to the max.

The party is short too. Adrián Doria ruins it all with the whipped cream. Armed with a red cylinder, he splashes the whipped cream everywhere, changing the character of the feast into a soap series without a cliffhanger. Chelsea couldn't help it, of course. She couldn't switch off the Tostado because she was standing next to me, offering me the last piece of her latest invention. She looks at the scene, she looks at all the angry faces that are looking at her, and she gives the only reasonable answer in a situation like this, the only thing you can get away with: "DUH!"

"You had to turn off the Tostada before you walked away, Miss.", Mister Doria manages to say, with a voice as cold as a box of Polar Bears in a freezer.

"Duh! It's your own fault, for using such a dangerous machine. In America, this would never have happened. In America, we would have invented a security that would automatically turn off the machine and avoid a disaster like this. In America, every lawyer in the country would sue a company like your Tostada for putting all those innocent people in danger. When you study in America, security is the first thing they teach you. You don't know nothing, do you?"

I gently take Chelsea by the arm, open the door behind us, walk through the entrance hall, go outside, to the car park, and open the door of the Ferrari for her: "These marketing people have no idea how to treat a lady like you. I'm glad you taught them a lesson."

Chelsea agrees with me: "Yeah. They deserved it. What an awful man. He said he hated Boston. He said the people from Boston are awful. Well, awful is he, calling himself 'we' all the time. People in Boston are awesome. Don't you think?"

"I don't have an opinion about that. I know only one person from Boston, and she's awesome, but she can't represent the rest of the Boston people because she's, well… unique."

"THE most unique.", Chelsea smiles.

"But we did have an awesome time, right? You liked the cooking, didn't you? Don't you ever have the illusion of being a mother and baking cookies with your daughter?"

I need to score a few points. If I can't score with Show, then at least with Tell. Sometimes, the right words can give us a different feeling. It's not about what really happened, as I just learnt; it's just about the illusion. When I can make her smile, it seems to me, she has to forget her Chucky childhood memories, but when I look and see her face, she takes me back to that awful place.

"Yeah, I liked it. I wish… I wish my mother wasn't such a…"

"You shouldn't blame your mother for not baking cookies with you, Chelsea. Some mothers are terrible cooks. I'm sure your mother had other qualities. I'm sure she told you nice stories before going to bed."

"My mother told stories all the time, mainly stories to get me out of the way, excuses to start drinking. She told me all those fairy tales, and she believed them herself…"

We can't go on like this. I've opened an old wound I can't cure, not while driving. I have to distract her. Fortunately, she gave me the perfect cross pass. All I have to do is score with a header…

"Do you like fairy tales? I'll tell you the Luxembourg version of Little Red Riding Hood.

» Once upon a time, in a little village far, far away, there was a butcher. She had a busy life. Early in the morning, she butchered the meat. The whole day long, she sold that meat in her shop. During the lunch breaks and in the evenings, she delivered the meat to her clients. On Saturdays, she sold her meat on the street market. On Sundays, she cleaned the shop and did her administration. Besides all that work, she took care of her family, and she didn't forget to think about other people too.

» Every week, a man came into the shop and bought one chicken breast, one schnitzel, one Goosebumps sausage, one meatball… He always bought one of everything. The butcher got an idea: «This man might be single.» Our female butcher wasn't relationship-wise interested; she already was happily married ever after, with a fantastic man, and they had a fine kid. She felt sad for this single man, who ate alone every day. Eating is more fun when you do it together. This man reminded her of this old lady, who came into the shop every week and bought one chicken breast, one schnitzel, one of everything.

» Our butcher knew her clients and her neighbourhood. There were many single, solitary, lonely people. She cooked up a plan. She made a folder that said: «Are you lonesome tonight? Leave your name and phone number at our butcher shop. Perhaps Little Red Riding Hood will come and visit you next Monday with a wicker basket full of delicious things.» She gave the folder to every single elderly client who visited her shop. She got replies, first a few and later more.

» Then she made another folder, for the younger single, solitary, lonely people, which said: «You can eat alone every day, but you can also take a little wicker basket, fill it with delicious things, and visit your grandmother next Monday night. It's easy. You knock on the door and you ask three questions. First, you ask: But grandmother, why do you have such a little pension? And she'll tell you all about it. Then you ask: But grandmother, why do you have such a small kitchen? And she'll tell you all about it. And finally, you ask: But grandmother, why don't we cook together and eat together? I have a wicker basket here, filled with delicious things. If you like, we can make dinner together, and we can eat together, and we can talk and have a nice time together. And Grandmother answered: "I'm hungry like a wolf." And they lived happily ever after. Do you want this story of fiction to come true? Ask us, the butchers, for a name and a phone number of someone like you, who eats dinner alone. Instead of buying one of everything, you buy two; we give you a 50% discount on the second one. The wicker basket, we'll lend you for free. You can fill it with fresh vegetables and fruits from the greengrocer next door. The baker on the other side has bread and fresh pasta waiting for you.»

» She gave away the folders, ordered a dozen wicker baskets and waited.

» It was a success. One year after she started the initiative, the Little Red Riding Hood Monday was in the national newspaper. The mayor invited the butcher for an official meeting, to give her the medal of honour of the city. The butcher refused the medal. She said: «You're a single woman too, mayor. Why don't you go and have dinner with a solitary lonely person in your neighbourhood? I don't want you to spend tax money on worthless tokens. I want you to follow the good example.» That part of the story didn't make it into the newspaper, of course. The butcher told it to me. That butcher is my mother…."

It's so nice when you can look up to your parents, even as an adult, and think: «You are what I want to be when I grow up». But Chelsea doesn't look up to anybody. Chelsea is the top of the bill of the best of the charts. The only view she has is downwards. It's lonely at the top. I pity her.

Chelsea is bored. She's already heard that Little Red Riding Hood story before: "You forgot the wolf."

"Yes. Sorry. I forgot the wolf. The wolf was the man from the tax office. He asked why she gave a 50% discount. He said she only did that to create a tax deduction. It was against the tax rules to help other people for free. She had to charge a fee for such a service. He would correct her income and send her the bill for the extra tax plus fine plus interest, so high that she had to close the shop and live on welfare money, paid for with the taxes of other butchers, who didn't give discounts and had to work 60 hours per week to make everybody else in the country live happily ever after."

Now Chelsea is interested: "Cool. And what did she do? Did she, like, close the shop?"

"She kicked the wolf in the nuts, took her big butcher knife and killed him. He was a big fat wolf, and his meat was red and juicy. The next week, Roadrunner Steaks were on offer, the second one with a 50% discount."

"And now what? Now I have to envy you for having such an awesome mother? Mothers aren't, like, angels who fall from the sky, you know. Mothers are a permanent disease. You don't choose your parents; you are born with them. In America, we have a democracy. You can choose everything you like. But if you don't like your parents, you can't give them back and ask for better ones."

"You can choose to be nice to them. You can choose to visit them once a week with a wicker basket full of delicious things, and cook together."

"Like your Little Communist Red Robin Riding Hood? You don't know my mother. She's a junkie and a drunkie. If I'd show up, she wouldn't even recognise me."

"But she's still your mother, and you only have one. Perhaps she would like the attention. She might enjoy it when someone is nice to her, even if she doesn't realise who that someone is. You can choose to love her like she never could love you, or you can choose to hate her as much as you can. It's not about what your mother feels; it's about what you feel. If you feel better hating her, that's fine with me, but I envy you for having the possibility to spend all the time you like with your mother. I can't even visit my parents at Christmas. Being a spy has its attractions, but I pay a price for it. I can forget being a father, I need to accept I'll never be a husband, and I have to cut all the contact with my parents, with all my friends and family, to avoid my enemies hurting them, to hurt me, where it hurts most."

"Duh. Whatever."

Nothing left to say.

Well, perhaps one thing.

"You would make a great President, Chelsea."

"Duh."

"No, I'm serious. Didn't you ever think about USA Election slogans? A long time ago, John F. Kennedy said: «Ich bin ein Berliner», which is German and means he is a liverwurst sausage. That was in the old times when people enjoyed speaking more than one language. Then we had Bill Clinton, whose most famous words were: «I did not have sex with that woman, Monica Lewinsky.», ten words. George W. Bush followed, famous for his slogan «We will bring them to justice», only six words to justify a war and 200.000 murders, including 6.000 of his own people. Then we had Barack Obama, who won the elections, saying «Yes, we can», only three words. Then we had the current President, who won the race with only two words: «America First!». Those slogans get shorter every time. The logical next step is a woman, young and dynamic, but also intelligent and highly educated. Every citizen will understand her slogan, and she will win every discussion with it: «Duh!» It's short, it's simple, it's perfect. It really is. Just do it. It's easy. Duh. You can't lose. Everybody loves it. Piece of cake. It's as easy as a Tostado with peanut butter, mint chocolate and strawberries."

I feel bad about myself. I'm here to give Chelsea a good time. She should have the best-day-ever, but I'm making sarcastic fun of her, her country and the politics over there. I should be ashamed of myself. If Mum could hear me now, she would take me by the ear, drag me to my room and say something like: "And now you start thinking about your despicable behaviour for at least one hour, and then you come down and apologise to that girl. It's not her fault she was born there. She's not responsible for her country, being like it is. She might be the woman who will change everything, but not if you're making fun of her; only if you help her and support her."

Yes, Mum. Sorry, Mum. You're right, as always…

I was blunt. I have to say I'm sorry. Chelsea is angry with me. She doesn't say a word and looks the other way. I should apologise. But Mum told me to think about it first, for an entire hour, so I say nothing. I'm angry too, with myself, for not being able to behave like an adult in front of a child. It's not her fault. I should blame the President of her country, who makes money more important than people.

Chelsea breaks the silence: "You know… When I think about it… It's not a bad idea at all. America is such a great country because we can choose everything we want, but that's because we have a President who makes the law. If we can't even choose to have better parents, we should have a President who makes a law to make it possible. All we have to do is choose a better President. You were right about everybody contributing to something; even a stupid man like you can say something that might give a young and dynamic, but also intelligent and highly educated woman like me a great idea: I'm going to run for President of the USA. It's easy. Politicians like my father talk and talk and do nothing. When I'm President, and they ask me what I'm going to do about the problems, I say «Duh! Solve it yourself.», and then they shut up and begin doing something. It's perfect. It's short, simple, and easy as a Tostado with peanut butter, mint chocolate and strawberries. I'm going to run for President. It's a great idea. I'll be Chelsea the First, the first female President of the USA. Thanks to my young age, I'm going to rule the country for an entire century because if they have the perfect President, nobody needs elections to choose another one. What do you think?"

I'm flabbergasted: "What do I think?"

"Yes. You'll need to help me, of course. I see what you can do for my popularity on Facebook, so I'll need you to make all those people love me and vote for me. It's a democracy, you know. They have to vote for me first. You can tell them what a great President I'll be. Once I'm elected, you can drive me around in my Ferrari. The people will all go out on the street to cheer me. They'll shout how much they love me and what a great President I am… Don't you think it's stupid to have those elections every four years? You can easily see on Facebook who's the most popular. That's the one who should have the job."

"Shouldn't you finish school first? And perhaps finish Harvard too?"

"Duh! Learning is for the stupid. If you know it all, you're just wasting your time at school. And if there's something I should know, I'll have my advisers, who come to my White House and explain it to me in, like, five seconds. It's simple. It's easy. It's perfect. Chelsea First! I love it."

I'm a spy. It's my daily work to save the world. It's my mission to avoid disasters, not to create them. What do I do now? Ask the LSD for help?