New Age Pharm Seeks Name for Wonder Drug

  As a marketing consultant, I occasionally am retained by drug companies to help them launch new products.

  That was the case last week when Ram Singh of New Age Pharmaceuticals asked me to chair a group charged with naming the company’s latest offering.

  “What’s the drug supposed to do?” I asked.

  “Cure UEFS,” he said.

  “Which is?”

  “Uncontrollable Eyelash Flutter Syndrome.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ve heard of that affliction - never.”

  “It’s a genetic thing, mostly involving immigrants from Laos, Djibouti and Bangladesh. Niche market,” Singh said

  A week later I was in a conference room at New Age headquarters in New York with six people randomly selected off a frequent shoppers list from Wal-Mart. Singh told me the company wanted a diverse group of consumers rather than the usual marketing specialists. They were given a week to come up with a name.

  First up was Rachel, a big-boned woman with green hair, a silver nose ring and oversized yellow-framed glasses. She wore a loud, loose-fitting dress that looked like a multi-colored potato sack.

  “Whaddya got for us, Rachel?” I asked.

  “Flynip,” she said.

  “What’s your thinking with that name?”

  “Well,” she said, “if your eyelashes are flyin’ all over the place, this drug is gonna nip it in the bud, so to speak.”

  “Not bad,” I said.

  Next was a guy who said his name was Raymond.

  “But I go by John Jr.”

  He was a skinny man of about 30 with an Adam’s apple the size of a golf ball and a mini blonde Afro. His outfit consisted of tight-fitting jeans and a tee shirt with “Save the Aardvarks” stenciled on front.

 “What did you come up with, John Jr.?” I asked

  “Czezia.”

  “Which means?”

  “Well, I went to the Czech Republic once and liked it. So, I took the first part of that name and added zia because, well, it just sounded cool.”

  “Thanks for the explanation,” I said.

  Number three was a middle aged man who called himself Running Bear.

  “You Native American?” I asked.

  “Nah, my Dad was a hunter who loved shooting black bears,” he said.

  “I see. Whaddya got for us?”

  “Rasputin,” he said.

  “And Rasputin why?”

  “Well, he was a crazy dude and this is a crazy condition.”

  “Running Bear, we can’t name a drug after a famous person,” I said.

  “Why not? He’s dead.”

  I had no answer for that so we moved on.

  Number four was a 20-something brunette with stunning blue eyes, full pink lips and a cleft chin. Her face was buried in her cell phone.

  “Excuse me. Hello. You there?”

  “Oh,” she said, looking up. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

  “Yes. You are?”

  “Tiffany Sue,” she said, with a hint of a Southern drawl.

  “No surprise there,” I said.

  “Excuse me.”

  “Nothing. You come up with something, Tiffany Sue?”

  “Oh, yes, I did. What do you think of Spoof?”

 “What was your thought process on that?” I asked.

  “Well, we want this illness to go poof, right, as in disappear,” she said. “And then I added the “s” because it reminded me of spook but with an “f” instead of a “k” just for funsies. Anyway, that’s what I was thinking. Do you like it?”

  “I’ll get back to you, Tiffany Sue,” I said.

  Number five was a logger named Sam. His biceps were larger than my thighs. He wore his thick black hair in a man bun and had a skull tattooed on his forearm. Beneath the skull were the words “Try Me.”

  I asked Sam for his idea.

  “You got a problem?” he said

  “Problem? No. Why?”

  “I didn’t like the way you asked the question,” Sam said.

  “O-o-o-o-kay,” I said. “And you would like me to ask how?”

  “Forget it. Yeah, I got something. Crush. Don’t ask me why. I just like it. You’re OK with that, right, pal?”

  “Sure,” I said, turning to calculate how fast I could get out the door.

  Thankfully, the tense moment passed and we were down to our last group member.

  “Hi. I’m LaToya,” said a cheerful middle-aged woman with eyelashes as long as my nose and three-inch nails painted a glossy blue. She wore a bright lavender jumpsuit.

  Before I could ask, LaToya said: “Shaboo.”

  “Shaboo what?” I asked.

  “As in my name for your drug. I even wrote the lyrics for a song you can use in a commercial.”

  In a blink, LaToya was up on the conference table doing some sort of side step and clapping her hands.

  “Shaboo, shabang, shaboo, shabang,” she began, “this pill gonna slow them lashes down. Down. Down. Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Shaboo.”

  Back in her chair and breathing hard, LaToya said: “You know, something like that.”

  Unsure what to say, I complimented LaToya on her enthusiasm.

  The room quickly emptied after we adjourned. Singh turned up a few minutes later.

  “You got anything good?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I think so. How do you feel about Zypac?

 “Wow! I like it. That’s really good. See, I told you this was the best way to handle this. Which one came up with that name?” he asked.

  “None of them,” I said. “I mentioned what I was up to to my 4-year-old grandson, Jack, yesterday.”

  “And?”

  “Zypac was the first thing out of his mouth.”

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Written by: George J. Tanber

Edited by: Michael Gordon

Photo editor: David Kozy