I wonder if anyone collects the promotional toys that drug company representatives hand out at meetings and conferences? All I've got is a Solian pillcutter somewhere at home - a nifty little triangular device with a flip top - unless I've loaned it to someone for chopping up the kind of happy pills your doctor can't prescribe you.
I'm imagining a time capsule (green and white, of course) stuffed with Zoloft pens, Zyprexa notepads, Seroquel paperweights (stacks of rocks) and Viagra "stress-diamonds" (a giant rubbery replica of man's new best friend that can presumably be squeezed, bounced, and thrown around the room with impunity). It might make a entertaining medical museum piece a few centuries hence, after Big Pharma collapses under the weight of increased scrutiny and more stringent novelty criteria for obtaining patents, and shrinks start talking to their patients again.
And in doing so, I'm imagining a future where such objects will be regarded as ephemeral, as will the attitudes, beliefs, systems, policies and practices that they symbolise.
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