People only ever buy Toblerones when it’s Christmas. Why the hell is that, Daniel
Uh, I don’t know sir
There’s only one thing for it
What are you thinking, sir
We need to institute a new national holiday for which Toblerones are for whatever reason considered an ideal and relatively inexpensive gift
Should we not go through the PR people first, sir
Goddammit Daniel how the hell did you get this job with that attitude
Well actually sir, I used to be someone much more important at BMW, but that’s beside the point right now
SO BEGAN MICHAEL’S LIFE OF ANNUAL VIRTUE. Every year for thirty years, Michael outdid himself on July the 15th; he awoke at 00:00 and for a full 24 hours did everything he could in his power to make the world a better place. He pulled people from car wreckages, conducted health and safety seminars for retailers that prepared food, bullied small government and big government alike into doing their jobs better, and gave away every possession to his name that he’d accumulated since the last July 15th. Years down the line, people took notice and celebrated him and his efforts.
“Why do you do it, Michael? What drove you to be this paragon of altruism?”
“Toblerone. Toblerone made me who I am.”
Needless to say, their sales shot through the roof.
We live in a different world now.
Thanks to Michael and his selflessness, Toblerone and its parent company Mondelez are major players on an international stage, endorsing and funding non-profit organisations and political campaigns alike. They are a supercorporation of such immensity they can start, control and end developing democracies, regimes and wars by putting some serious money in the right place at the right time. They still make triangular chocolate, though.
Maybe the Toblerone sales themselves never actually mattered to Michael. Why would they? He’d carved out a more fulfilling life than most, no matter how many times he annually bankrupted himself for the cause. Maybe we all, deep down, feel we need a reason to do good things.
‘I’ll be damned if I’m going to believe in a God or some such nonsense,’ thought Michael, years later, warming his feet at the fire in his twilight years. ‘Hell. At least I know Toblerone exists.’