Beth arrived at the Creative Sparks Agency clutching a brown paper bag filled with samples of her homemade baby food. She wore a floral-print dress and sensible shoes, her hair tied back in a neat bun that spoke of practicality rather than style. Her warm face, lined with worry, made it clear. This wasn’t just a business venture… it was personal. Every jar represented months of trial and error, late nights spent perfecting recipes, and an unshakable belief that other mothers deserved better for their children.

  When she stepped inside, the office buzzed with its usual low-grade chaos. Tony was hunched over his laptop, muttering something about neural networks. Alfred stood by the window. Cindy sat at her desk, scrolling through emails with the same air of resignation she’d worn since the Aaron debacle. And then there was “her,” perched quietly at her desk near the window.

  Beth hesitated in the doorway, absorbing the cluttered desks, flickering lights, and faint smell of burnt coffee. It wasn’t what she’d expected from a marketing agency, but she reminded herself that appearances didn’t matter – it was results that counted.

  “Hi,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of activity. When no one responded, she cleared her throat and tried again, louder this time. “Hello? I’m here to talk about my product.”

  Cindy glanced up, her expression shifting instantly into professional mode. “Ah, yes. Come in, come in.” She gestured toward the conference table, her tone clipped. “Let’s get started.”

  Beth shuffled over, setting the paper bag carefully on the table. She pulled out a small glass jar filled with creamy orange puree and held it up proudly. “This is my baby food. It’s made from organic ingredients, free of additives, preservatives, and artificial flavours. I developed it because… well, because I couldn’t find anything like it when my son was little. Mothers deserve better options.”

  The room fell silent. Even Tony paused mid-mutter to glance at the jar curiously. For a moment, Beth thought they might actually understand how important this was to her. Then Cindy leaned forward, pen poised over her notebook.

  “Great,” Cindy said briskly. “Now let’s talk budget.”

  Beth blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, um…” She reached into her purse and pulled out a crumpled check book. “I’ve got two thousand dollars saved up. Is that enough?”

  Cindy sighed audibly, jotting down the number. “We’ll see what we can do.”

  Back at the conference table, Cindy fired up the AI system. The screen flickered to life, displaying rows of data points and algorithmic parameters. She typed in Beth’s description – a healthier, tastier alternative to commercial baby food – and set the budget constraints. Within seconds, the AI began spitting out ideas.

  The first suggestion appeared on the screen:

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Empower Your Child’s Developmental Journey? – Harness the Synergistic Power of Nutrient-Dense Bioavailability Through Precision-Engineered Infant Nutrition Solutions!”

  Beth frowned, squinting at the screen like it held ancient hieroglyphs. “What does ‘bioavailability’ mean?”

  “It’s science-y,” Cindy replied vaguely, clicking through more options. The next result was even worse:

  “Optimize Your Little One’s Microbiome Ecosystem? – Leverage Proactive Parenting Metrics for Maximum Growth Potential Across Hyper-Personalized Feeding Protocols!”

  “This sounds like a medical textbook,” Beth said, her voice tinged with confusion. “But my baby food isn’t complicated. It’s just… good food.”

  Tony chimed in eagerly, pointing at the screen. “See, that’s the beauty of AI! It transforms simplicity into sophistication. Parents don’t want basic – they want advanced. Trust me, this will resonate with them.”

  Beth looked sceptical. “But won’t they think it’s too fancy? Too expensive?”

  “Not if we frame it right,” Cindy interjected quickly. “Perception is key. We’re not selling baby food – we’re selling a lifestyle upgrade.”

  Alfred, who had been lingering near the window, finally spoke up. His voice was soft but firm. “Cindy, maybe we should focus on what makes her product special. Healthy ingredients, homemade care – all the things moms value.”

  Cindy shot him a sharp look. “And risk looking amateurish? After the Aaron fiasco, we need to prove we’re professionals.”

  “That campaign worked because it was authentic,” Alfred countered. “People connected with it. Maybe we should try the same approach here.”

  While the debate unfolded, "she" observed silently from her seat, her head tilted slightly as if trying to decipher a puzzle. She scribbled absentmindedly on a sticky note, drawing little jars of baby food surrounded by question marks.

  Tony, ever the advocate for AI, jumped back into the fray. “Authenticity is fine, sure, but algorithms know best. Look, I’ll tweak the inputs and generate something even better.” He leaned over Cindy’s shoulder, adjusting settings on the AI interface. Moments later, a new slogan popped up:

  “Unlock Your Child’s Quantum Cognitive Edge? – Propel Future Leaders Through Data-Driven Nutritional Pathways!”

  Beth stared at the screen, visibly overwhelmed. “Quantum cognitive edge? What does that even mean? My baby food doesn’t make kids smarter – it just keeps them healthy!”

  Cindy waved a dismissive hand. “It’s aspirational. Parents love stuff like this. They’ll eat it up.”

  Beth shook her head, her earlier confidence wavering. “I don’t understand any of this. I just wanted to tell people that my baby food is good for their babies. Simple.”

  Tony frowned, clearly frustrated. “Simple doesn’t sell anymore. You need buzzwords. Excitement. Something that stands out.”

  Alfred sighed, rubbing his temples. “Maybe we’re overthinking this. Sometimes simple really is better.”

  Cindy glared at him. “Overthinking? That’s rich coming from you. Last time I checked, we’re running a business, not a charity.”

  As the argument escalated, Beth sank lower in her chair, clutching the jar of baby food tightly. Her initial excitement had faded, replaced by confusion and doubt. Was she wrong to think her product could stand on its own merits? Did she really need all these fancy words and promises to convince people?

  “She” watched Beth closely, noticing the way her shoulders slumped and her eyes darted anxiously between the team members. There was something heartbreaking about the scene – a woman passionate about her creation being drowned out by jargon and ego. Quietly, “She” tore off the sticky note she’d been doodling on and tucked it into her pocket. Maybe there was a way to help Beth cut through the noise. But for now, she stayed silent, waiting to see how far the absurdity would go.