Cutting prices or putting things on sale is not sustainable

Host: The city hummed in shades of neon blue and coffee brown — the smell of roasted beans drifting through the midnight air like a hymn to ambition. Through the wide glass windows of a downtown café, the rain scribbled lines against the streetlights, and inside, two figures sat facing each other, their reflections trembling in the black sheen of the table.

Jack, sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp as cold steel, scrolled through numbers on his tablet — profit graphs, market dips, the brutal poetry of commerce. Jeeny, seated opposite, stirred her cappuccino absentmindedly, the foam swirling like tiny galaxies before vanishing into brown silence.

On the café’s speaker, a baritone voice from a TED Talk echoed faintly — “Cutting prices or putting things on sale is not sustainable business strategy...”

Jeeny smiled. “Howard Schultz,” she said, softly. “The man who made coffee into a religion.”

Jack: (without looking up) “And a global empire.”

Jeeny: “He’s right, though. You can’t build prosperity by trimming your soul thinner and thinner. Growth isn’t about discounts. It’s about value.”

Jack: “That’s idealism talking. In business, you adapt or you die. Sometimes that means slashing prices, cutting staff, tightening costs — survival isn’t always poetic.”

Host: The lights flickered as a delivery truck rumbled past outside. The café’s sign — Caffeine & Co. — cast their faces in gold and shadow, half-angel, half-calculator.

Jeeny: “And what do you end up surviving as, Jack? A name without meaning? A brand without breath?”

Jack: “You sound like you think business should be about spirituality.”

Jeeny: “Not spirituality — integrity. Schultz built Starbucks on community, not coupons. He understood that people don’t just buy coffee; they buy connection, ritual, identity. When you reduce that to numbers, you lose the story — and the story is the soul.”

Jack: “The story doesn’t pay salaries. The margins do.”

Jeeny: “Then explain why the richest companies are the ones that make people feel something — Apple, Patagonia, Starbucks, Tesla. People don’t fall in love with discounts; they fall in love with meaning.”

Jack: “Meaning doesn’t balance the books.”

Jeeny: “Neither does cynicism.”

Host: The steam rose from their cups like ghosts of forgotten dreams — vapor of all the things people chase when they call it success.

Jack sighed, setting the tablet aside. His hands, calloused by more deals than memories, rubbed against each other as though trying to summon warmth from logic.

Jack: “You know how many companies I’ve seen go under because they chased vision instead of numbers? Dreams don’t keep the lights on.”

Jeeny: “No — but they make the light worth turning on.”

Jack: “You’re quoting Hallmark now.”

Jeeny: “I’m quoting humanity.”

Host: Her voice, gentle but steady, cut through the murmur of the café like a chord in an otherwise mechanical song.

Jeeny: “Schultz wasn’t just talking about pricing strategy. He was warning us — about the hunger for shortcuts. Everyone’s so obsessed with being efficient that they forget to be excellent.”

Jack: “Efficiency is excellence.”

Jeeny: “No, it’s imitation. Excellence takes time, patience, care. Efficiency kills all that — it’s fast food for the soul.”

Host: The rain thickened outside, washing the reflections of skyscrapers into fluid rivers on the street. A young barista behind the counter laughed with a customer, her eyes glowing under the warm pendant light — a tiny act of human connection in a world that was forgetting how.

Jeeny gestured toward them. “See that? That’s Schultz’s point. It’s not about selling coffee. It’s about creating moments. Every successful brand has to ask — what am I really selling? Because if it’s just a product, you’re replaceable.”

Jack: (leaning forward) “So what are you selling, Jeeny?”

Jeeny: “Hope. Joy. Belonging. What are you selling, Jack?”

Jack: (after a pause) “Control.”

Jeeny: “And how’s that working out?”

Jack: (smirking faintly) “Expensive.”

Host: The clock above the counter ticked past midnight. The crowd had thinned. The rain softened into a whisper.

Jack looked down at his half-empty cup, the coffee long cold.

Jack: “You really think you can build a business on ideals?”

Jeeny: “Not on ideals alone. But without them, all you build are walls.”

Jack: “And with them?”

Jeeny: “Bridges.”

Host: The espresso machine hissed, a sound like applause in miniature. Jeeny leaned back, her eyes warm but defiant.

Jeeny: “Howard Schultz once said Starbucks didn’t sell coffee. It sold a third place — a space between home and work, a place to breathe. That’s what kept it alive when everyone else was discounting to death. He built community instead of coupons.”

Jack: “And charged five dollars a cup for it.”

Jeeny: “Because people weren’t paying for the coffee. They were paying for the feeling of being seen.”

Host: The truth hung in the air like the lingering aroma of roast beans — bittersweet and undeniable.

Jack: “So what you’re saying is — price doesn’t create loyalty.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Value does. Emotional value. Ethical value. Shared value. You can’t cut your way to greatness — you have to grow into it.”

Jack: “But what if growth hurts?”

Jeeny: “Then it’s real.”

Host: The rain stopped. A soft breeze slipped through the open café door, carrying the scent of wet pavement and tomorrow. The world outside gleamed — polished by storms, reborn by imperfection.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack... Schultz was really talking about life, not just business. You can’t discount your way to fulfillment. You can’t keep cutting pieces of yourself to stay profitable.”

Jack: “And if the world demands it?”

Jeeny: “Then teach it a better way to measure success.”

Host: A quiet pause. Jack looked at her — not as an opponent this time, but as a mirror. The numbers on his screen seemed smaller now, their glow dimmed by something truer.

Jack: “You make business sound like art.”

Jeeny: “It is. Every company, every decision — a canvas. You choose what kind of world you’re painting.”

Host: The barista turned off the espresso machine. The last song of the night played — soft piano notes drifting through the closing room.

Jack: (finishing his drink) “So, no more discounts then?”

Jeeny: “Only on fear.”

Host: He laughed — not sarcastically this time, but like someone who had just realized how heavy his armor was.

They rose from their seats, gathering their coats. Outside, the city gleamed under a wet sky — storefronts glowing like small universes, people moving through puddles of reflected light.

As they stepped into the night, the camera lingered on their empty cups — two circles of foam forming almost identical patterns.

And over the quiet hum of the closing café, Howard Schultz’s wisdom lingered like caffeine in the veins of thought:

That neither business nor life can be saved by subtraction —
only by creation, by vision, by the courage to offer more, not less.

Because you cannot cut your way to prosperity,
any more than you can fear your way into greatness.