The Problem With the Marigolds

Quentin arrived just two minutes before the meeting was scheduled to start. He hated being that guy. He’d grown up with a mom who was always late for everything, the world revolved around her as she’d manifest herself into whatever ninth circle she was into. Quentin respected meeting start times. He prided himself on punctuality. He was mocked relentlessly for arriving at airports over two hours before his scheduled flight time. To him, it just felt like common sense.

A meeting with the board would normally justify an early arrival, yet Quentin had learned the hard way that, if spotted, he would be bombarded with IT questions. He was not the IT guy. He was not tech-savvy. He had even gotten laser-eye surgery and started lifting weights to shed himself of the IT persona, all to no avail. The upper management sensed tech and became irate whenever he couldn’t get their PowerPoint presentations to work. Not as irate as the actual IT guys did whenever Quentin inevitably mucked up the inner mystical machinations of corporate networks.

Quentin slipped in and sat at one of the side chairs. He was not a big table person. In fact, Quentin wanted absolutely nothing to do with this meeting. His supervisor, two researchers and a perturbed occupational health and safety rep cornered him an hour ago. They tossed him the incident report and forwarded the meeting invite. Why did Quentin warrant this attention? The marigolds were his idea.

Art was always a passion of Quentin’s. Growing up, he loved working with crisp, clean lines and the precision of realism. His mom encouraged anything artistic, but, ever practical Quentin wasn’t sure it could be a way of life. He started off with graphic design, which led to advertising, which led to public relations, which got him into this mess. He applied for a position with an oil company looking to expand and rebrand themselves. They spent a fortune on revitalizing their workspace and updating their culture. All that resulted was an open-concept office and a lot of confused forty-somethings standing around a foosball table where their conference room used to be.

The company, at least on paper, was willing to invest and diversify into alternative energy. It sounded like they were somewhat stumbling up the right path for a sustainable future. Quentin was willing to give it a shot.

It was his pitch for MarigoldTM that gave the company the platform to build its new reputation. He sat quietly in the board meeting as the CEO parroted Quentin’s words as if he’d come up with them himself. Only one thing flows downhill, thought Quentin.

“The marigold,” waxed the CEO, “symbolizes all that we want this company to be. And more!” he paused for effect. “It is a plant, just like the, er, plants that we will use to make the biological diesel fuel. It looks a lot like the sun, just like the sun that gives us the solar energy.”

“Why not just use a sunflower?” someone whispered at the end of the table.

“And,” the CEO continued with a glare to the offender, “it has the word ‘gold’ in it. Reminiscent of black gold, which is the foundation of this great company. Marigold - our company, our future.” The CEO took his seat as the board clapped.

Quentin looked around the room, realizing that not a single board member had bothered to read the incident report. He internalized his groan, most likely fueling ulcers, and stood up.

“Now we have Quincey here from the PR team to give an update on Marigold,” the CEO waved Quentin up to the front of the room.

“Sir, board members, my apologies, but I was asked today to present the problem with the marigolds,” started Quentin.

“Problem? PROBLEM?? Marigold tested extremely well, everyone loves the branding!” shouted the CEO.

Quentin took a moment, waited for the shouting to stop, and continued. “Yes, Sir, the branding is testing well. This is about the actual marigolds themselves. The ones that were planted at the gate and in the flower boxes just outside the building. The company is directly responsible for releasing genetically modified marigolds into the ecosystem.”

The board members were now thoroughly confused, the CEO harrumphed and Quentin, hating his life, briefed the report he’d been handed.

The gardeners arrived to plant the pretty orange flowers in as many visible locations as possible. They did not bring enough with them, due to a miscommunication. They thought they were only hired to do the planters, but someone at the front desk felt that there should be a strip of marigolds alongside the gate, as well.

Instead of coming back another day, the gardeners noticed some marigolds in the adjacent room. They asked the front desk staff if they could take those. The admin assistants didn’t see an issue and the marigolds were planted.

Those marigolds were from the lab. The research team was working on using genetic modifications from ‘resurrection plants’, plants that can survive with no water until water is available. They were trying to make a hardier plant to grow in desert-like conditions that would be suitable for bio-diesel without impacting food production.

Why make a genetically modified marigold? The safety investigation revealed that the memo announcing the MarigoldTM brand was inserted with the research directives. The team was supposed to work with corn, instead, they received direction to work with marigolds. They didn’t question it as the last team-lead who requested clarification found themselves transferred to the lab where they tested manure.

“Well, then, I’m not sure I see a problem here. We’ve got our fancy marigolds at the gate. Seems like an expensive planting job, but that’s all. Thank you, Quincey, that was, er, an interesting brief,” said the CEO, mentally taking a note to have the young PR rep re-assigned to the manure team.

“Sir, I’m afraid that there’s a bit more,” said Quentin as he stood his ground. “The marigolds were designed to grow in sub-optimum conditions. With the rain and nutrient-dense soil we have here, they have, well, they have, um,” Quentin fumbled with the report.

“Out with it, we haven’t got all day!” shouted the CEO.

Do you have to take a class to learn the CEO shout? wondered Quentin.

“They’ve expanded exponentially. They can’t be weeded, they will just lie dormant in the soil and sprout back again at the next opportunity. To stop the marigolds from spreading, the soil has to be killed, leeched of all nutrients. Salted. That kind of thing. They’re already taking over the nearby fields. The marigolds are unstoppable.”

Quentin stood looking at the board, the members did not seem upset or perplexed or even a little bit worried. These mutant marigolds were going to impact everyone. Quentin took a breath, put his PR hat back on, and said, “And this company is branded with a marigold.”

Finally, some signs of panic. Not for the environment or the food supply, no, but for the company’s reputation.

Quentin left the board room amidst the shouting match that broke out. He was, after all, a glorified graphic designer who had no stake in which government agency, if any, should be notified. He took the incident report with him, he’d drop it off at the local news station on his way home. The company would inevitably try to cover this up. Quentin could play a small role in mitigating the disaster to come.

MarigoldTM really was some of his best work, reflected Quentin. Although it was probably time to change his name and move to Canada.

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