The discussion in the conference room came to a lull when the next item on the agenda was called. It was foreign relations. Director Chimgee looked up and around. “Where is Sanaa?”
At that moment, a bespectacled young man with slicked back hair entered through the doorway. This was the head of the Foreign Relations department, and the only son of the founder, Ganaa.
“Sorry, Director Chimgee,” he said, ambling toward the table and shrugging off the leather messenger bag on his shoulder, “I saw you exiting the conference room and thought the meeting hadn’t started yet.”
Chimgee swiveled her chair and beamed at Sanaa. If she felt threatened by the Nepo Baby, she didn’t show it. “Sanaa? Any updates from Foreign Relations we must know about this week?”
Sanaa claimed the seat next to the director, straightening the collar of his white starched shirt. “Not much. As you know, I recently went on a business trip—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, Sanaa,” said Chimgee, smiling through gritted teeth, “That trip was not approved by me and will not be reimbursed by the company.”
“I’m going to tell you what I told your father,” Chimgee went on, in a tone not unlike a kindergarten teacher giving yet another reminder to an exasperating child. “We are a publicly traded company, and a founder’s son being this profligate will immediately tank our stock.”
“Fine,” Sanaa said, leveling his glasses, sounding wounded by the comment. Something about his look reminded Monkho of Bruce Wayne, portrayed by Christian Bale, in that boardroom scene, wolfish and resolute in taking back his dead father’s company. Except Sanaa’s father was very much alive and present in public life, as a politician.
“My vacation in Europe was business-oriented. I visited some cheese factories in Milan and Bern, met some retailers to discuss our product, and even brought some cheese. Everyone, please stop by my office after the meeting to try some.”
Murmurs of thanks and assent floated across the room.
A smirk settled on Sanaa’s face. “So, after reconnoitering these European markets, I have come to the conclusion that Curuud is not ready for them.”
This snapped Monkho out of his rumination. Curuud was the finger-shaped soft curd product they had made for the international market, to vie for a slice of the children’s snack market. Closer in sustenance to mozzarella cheese sticks, in appearance to curly fries, the colorfully packaged product had been a hit in Mongolia. As the marketing person, he had spent a lot of time working on Curuud’s marketing plan, coming up with the cartoon mascot, and overseeing a foreign contractor’s work on the packaging and promotional designs. His eyes ached as he thought back on those strenuous late-night sessions in the office, phone on airplane mode, talking to himself, rationalizing the customer avatars.
“There are just too many costly steps to meet the import regulation requirements,” Sanaa said, studying his fingernails. “Again, this was a business trip, by the way. I don’t understand why my expenses aren’t being reimbursed.”
Anger boiled up in Monkho, not just at the casual arrogance of the founder’s kid, but at the complicit silence of the director.
“In the meantime,” Sanaa continued, “I have found an alternative product that is much easier to penetrate the market with. The pet food business is solid, and there are already hard curd dog chews supplied on North American and European markets. It’ll be the same as the traditional hard aaruul1 you see on marketplaces here, but packaged as pet chews.”
Someone tsked. It was Mr. Ravjaa, one of the white coats. “Dog food,” he said.
Sanaa blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You want us to make dog food, not dairy.”
It’s about to go down, Monkho thought. Mr. Ravjaa was a force to reckon with.
Sanaa blew out a sigh. “We can only get into the Western European markets through existing niches,” he said. “The demographic of pet owners is big enough to test the waters with the dog chews. Does that offend you?”
“Offend me?” Ravjaa said, looking around the room, and finding everyone’s eyes averted, “Try enrage. Kid, what you’re proposing is so…un-Mongolian. Aaruul is your first solid food, your main source of calcium. Gnawing on a piece of aaruul with your baby teeth is a rite of passage for every Mongol child.” He stabbed his finger into the table for emphasis. “Even each province in Mongolia has their distinct style of aaruul. And now you want us to turn it into…dog food?”
Everyone stared at Sanaa, who took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I see what you mean,” he said. “When it comes to food, Westerners don’t like new things. Have you heard of the 80 percent familiarity theory? I learned of it while I was in America. A new food product must be at least eighty percent familiar to be widely adopted by them.”
“Somebody’s face will be eighty percent familiar if you keep it up,” Ravjaa said. Everyone froze in silence. The typing noise coming from the assistant died down.
Ravjaa and Sanaa glared at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter. Their laughter lasted long enough to make others join in. Even Monkho found himself chuckling, while being unsure of what was happening.
Ravjaa turned toward Chimgee. “With all due respect,” he said, chuckling, “I detest bastardizing our tsagaan idee, but sometimes my nephew comes up with the weirdest ideas.”
“Let’s move on,” Chimgee said, waving her hand, “and have a separate discussion about it later today.”
The next item on the agenda was mysteriously titled Restructuring.
The director clicked her pen and cleared her throat. “We were planning this for next year, but I met the board last Friday, and they recommended we move the restructuring to next month.”
“April?” Monkho couldn’t help but notice that everyone else appeared unfazed by the news. Was I out of the loop somehow? he thought.
“The beverage factory is going to see some restructuring,” Chimgee said, cautiously choosing her words. “The bakery will be downsized. Here at the HQ, the Foreign Relations department is going to absorb Marketing. But we’ll discuss these in detail with the relevant departments.”
Monkho balked. “What did you say?” he said, perhaps a little too loudly. “Sorry,” he added meekly.
As everyone shuffled out of the room, Monkho stayed in his chair, rapping the edges of the agenda sheets on the table. Most of his colleagues had just left them, and he had mindlessly collected some. Director Chimgee finished scribbling in her notebook and looked up at him.
“I wanted to ask about the restructuring,” he said, wringing his hands. “How would my role be affected?”
Chimgee glanced beyond him toward the open doorway. She folded her arms and leaned back on her chair. “I’m sorry to give you more bad news, but we’re in a bind actually. The board wants us to downsize a lot of personnel, as we don’t have the budget anymore. Navchaa is ready to return. So we’re going to have to let you go at the end of this month.”
(…to be continued…)
Footnotes
1. Mongolian traditional dairy made of dried curd from sheep, goat, cow or camel milk. There are many variations in texture and shape and flavor across different regions of Mongolia.
Transadaptation Volume 6 – Meaning? – Uncertainty, Instability and Extremes Transadapted
January: A Regular Train Trip – Mateusz Tymoszewski (Poland)
February: Growing Up – Adriana Uribe (Columbia)
March: Mess – Veronika Groke (Austria)
April: The Roads We Take – Svetlana Molchanova (Russia)
May: Need – Nadia Silva Castro (Brazil)
June: “Next Sunshine” – Jonay Quintero Hernandez (Spain)
July: Intentions – Narantsogt Baatarkhuu (Mongolia)
August: Planet Kyiv – Anastasiia Leonova (Ukraine)
September: Feeling like a Fool – Ulrike Bergmeister (Germany)
October: Stories of Outcast Souls – Armine Asryan (Armenia)
November: Ronaldinha – Alejandra Baccino (Uruguay)
December: Aimlessly – Krisztina Janosi (Hungary)
Background – Context
Transadaptation Volume 5: Of Flowing Vicissitudes – Life Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2024)
Transadaptation Volume 4: Material Dissent – Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2023)
Transadaptation Volume 3: Evanescent – Young Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2022)
Transadaptation Volume 2: Conceived – Childhood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2021)
Transadaptation Volume 1: In the Middle – Prelude to a Contemporary Transadaptation, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2020)
Peripatetic Alterity: A Philosophical Treatise on the Spectrum of Being – Romantics and Pragmatists by Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
La Syncrétion of Polarization and Extremes Transposée, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2018)
L’anthologie of Global Instability Transpuesta, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2017)
From Wahnsinnig to the Loony Bin: German and Russian Stories Transposed to Modern-day America, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2013)
Emblems and stories on the international community
Perception by country – Transposing emblems, articles, short stories and reports from around the world
Credits
Background photo: Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia – From above – Altansukh (Unsplash)
Left to right at top: 1. Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia – The high rises – Anonymous (Shutterstock); 2. Erdenet, Mongolia – A city street – Pecoid (Shutterstock); 3. Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia – An autumn day – Munkhtevshin (Unsplash)
Left to right in middle: 1. Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia – A winter weekday – Anonymous (Shutterstock); 2. Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia – From the car – Keleny (Shutterstock)
Left to right at bottom: 1. Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia – Residential highrises – Seewhybee (Shutterstock); 2. Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia – In the capital – Anonymous (Shutterstock)
Source: The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed