American Medicine God: Starting by Inheriting a Pharmaceutical Company and Selling Medicine

Water Pharmaceuticals, Human Resources Department.

The meeting room was transformed into a dressing room that resembled the backstage area of ​​a beauty pageant.

Twenty young women sat on folding chairs, adjusting their skirts, touching up their makeup in front of small mirrors, and looking each other over.

They were neither chemists nor pharmacists. They were cheerleaders, prom queens, and unknown models recruited from the local community college.

“This is absurd,” hissed the newly hired sales director, Marcus. A balding, fifty-year-old veteran poached from Pfizer, his face etched with suspicion. “Mr. Corleone, you can’t let these girls…go into doctors’ offices to sell drugs. They can’t even tell the difference between numerators and denominators.”

"That's why I hire them, Marcus," Victor said, standing behind the one-way glass.

“Doctors are tired of listening to bald men like you—no offense intended—talking about pharmacokinetics,” Victor said calmly. “They spend twelve hours a day seeing patients, looking at blood, looking at pus. When they finally get their precious five-minute break, do you think they want to see another white coat? Or a ray of sunshine?”

"But FDA regulations..."

“We sell consulting services*, Marcus. Not just drugs,” Victor interrupted him. “Bring the first one in.”

The door opened. A tall, blonde woman walked in. Her resume stated her name was Katie. She was the captain of the Rutgers University cheerleading team.

She walks with a natural bounce, radiating infectious energy.

"Hi! I'm Katie!" She flashed a smile that could melt icebergs.

Victor walked into the room. He didn't ask about her GPA or her sales experience.

"Katie," Victor picked up a bottle of "Valium" from the table, "sell me this pen... I mean, sell me this bottle of medicine."

Katie blinked. She took the medicine bottle. She didn't even look at the name of the medicine.

Instead, she leaned forward, intruding into Victor's personal space at just the right distance—flirtatious without being frivolous. She lightly touched Victor's arm.

"You look exhausted, Doctor," she said in a low, sympathetic purr. "You've worked so hard to save lives. Don't you think your patients deserve a good night's sleep, just like you?"

She placed the medicine bottle in Victor's hand, her fingers lingering for a second.

"Trust me. It works. If you order ten boxes, I'll personally deliver the tickets to the Giants' game next Sunday. My uncle has a VIP box..."

Marcus's jaw dropped to the ground.

Victor smiled. "You're hired. You're the captain."

......

Two weeks later. Training room.

Lesson One: The Gatekeeper.

"The doctor is the king of the castle," Victor said, pacing in front of the "cheerleading army." They were all wearing the same new uniform: navy blue pencil skirts, crisp white shirts, and scarves in the colors of Walter Pharmaceuticals around their necks.

"But to see the king, you must first get past the dragon, which is the receptionist."

“The receptionist is usually an overworked, low-paid middle-aged woman,” Victor continued. “She hates pharmaceutical representatives. She hates you guys because you're young and pretty. So, how do you get past that?”

Katie raised her hand. "Shall we bring a present?"

“Correct.” Victor nodded. “You’ll bring bagels. Freshly baked hot bagels from the best bakery in town. Deliver them promptly at 8 a.m. Remember her name. Greet her children. Be her best friends. Make her feel like she’s letting you in, make her feel like she has a right to you.”

Lesson Two: Emotional Hooks

Victor projected a slide. It was a profile of a typical general practitioner.

*Dr. Smith. 45 years old. Divorced. Plays golf on Tuesdays. Hates insurance paperwork.*

“Don’t talk to Dr. Smith about half-life or bioavailability,” Victor said sternly. “He doesn’t care. The ten drugs he prescribes were all learned in medical school twenty years ago.”

"Talk to him about golf. Talk to him about how hard his job is. Satisfy his vanity. Make him feel like a genius. Then, casually mention: 'Oh, by the way, Dr. Smith, since you've seen so many anxious patients, have you tried the new Vortis? The top specialists in New York are using it.'"

"That's called social proof," Victor tapped the blackboard, "and it's also called the principle of reciprocity. Remember, true masters only need emotional value. A pretty face is a dime a dozen, but an interesting soul is one in a million! You give them emotional value; they give you a prescription."

......

A clinic in Newark.

Dr. Henderson had a terrible day. Three patients vomited in his waiting room. And his medical malpractice insurance premiums had just gone up.

He rubbed his temples, staring at the pile of documents with a troubled expression.

*Knock knock knock.*

"Dr. Henderson?"

A head popped in. It was Katie. She was holding a steaming cup of Starbucks coffee (a rarity in 1983) and a small paper bag.

"I just happened to be passing by. I remember you said you liked La Patisserie's blueberry waffles," she said with a smile, placing the coffee and waffles on his table.

"Oh, Katie," Dr. Henderson's brow instantly relaxed. He subconsciously straightened his tie. "You're too kind."

"I just wanted to make your day a little happier," she said, sitting on the edge of the visitor's chair, gracefully crossing her legs. "By the way, did you receive your golf tournament tickets? I put them in the sample bag."

"I received it! Thank you!" Dr. Henderson beamed. "You know what? My near-death experience has improved recently."

"That's amazing! You have to tell me all about it," Katie said, her eyes wide with admiration.

Ten minutes later, Katie walked out of the office.

She opened her notebook.

*Dr. Henderson. Prescriptions this week: 50. Conversion rate from Roche: 100%.*

She walked to the public phone in the hallway and dialed a number.

"Mr. Corleone?" Her voice became professional and sharp. "The eagle has landed. Henderson is one of us now."

On the other end of the phone, in his office, Victor looked at the sales map on the wall.

"Well done, Katie," Victor said. "Now, move on to the next one."

He hung up the phone.

Sales Director Marcus stood in the corner, staring dumbfounded at the almost vertical sales curve.

"I...I owe you an apology, boss," Marcus stammered. "I've never seen anything like this before. But this...this is unethical. This is manipulation. This is..."

"This is the future, Marcus. Don't think of things in such a dirty way! Our sales only provide emotional value, not the kind of slutty deals you're thinking of!" Victor turned his chair around and looked down at the city.

"We're not just selling drugs. We're selling dopamine."