Wiston Papers

Hey!  Those are my genes.

“Order up everyone.  I’m picking up the tab today,”  John said triumphantly as he sat down confidently for our weekly coffee.

“Well, big spender,” our waitress Beverly said with a broad smile as she rubbed his shoulders.  “You’re certainly in high spirits.  What’s the occasion?”

“I’m going to be rich, rich, rich.  Yup.  You’re looking at a wealthy man,” John’s already broad smile widened more.

“All right.  Dota and La Minita Tarrazu from Costa Rica coming right up,” Beverly promised as she walked briskly back to the kitchen.

“Rich you say,” I ventured suspiciously.

“Yes, indeed,” John leaned back arrogantly and waved at the other customers.  “I’ve taken out a patent on numbers and the alphabet.”

“Excuse me,” I stared as I almost spit my first sip of Dota.

“The Supreme Court inspired me,” John leaned forward still smiling broadly.  “They’re about to rule on patents for genetic engineering and I thought I’d better get mine first.”

“There must be something in this coffee, but you lost me.”

“It’s simple,” John began slowly, “the men and women in robes are about to decide whether companies can patent the building blocks of life...genes.  And I’ve just extended that logic.”

“But I read some stories that indicated the court expressed doubt that anyone has the rights to individual genes,” I argued as I tried to take another swallow.

“That’s just the liberal media reporting,” John countered.  “It’s obvious that if you can patent individual genes then I can patent individual letters and numbers.”

“Wait a minute.  I can see getting a patent for how you combine the genes.  That’s a new product you created,” I professed, “but you didn’t create the genes themselves.”

“Nope, you’re wrong.  It’s like this cup of Minita Tarrazu. I wouldn’t be drinking this patented java unless I owned the rights to the beans,”  John savored both the coffee and his argument.

“So you’re saying that I can’t claim a copyright for anything I write or a new formula I create because you already own the rights to the letters and numbers?” I questioned incredibly.

“Bingo, you got it,” John chuckled and motioned to Beverly for a refill.  “And you’ll have to pay me to use my letters and digits.”

“In other words, if I send you an email...”

“I have to be compensated.”

“...or text...”

“Ku-ching”

“...or...”

“Any combination at all.  Doesn’t matter.  The building blocks of the words and formulas belong to me.  Just as soon as the Supreme Court rules in my favor, I’ll be rolling in cash.”

“John, it’s great you have the money.  You owe me $537.53 cents for everybody’s food and drink today,” Beverly informed.

“Wait a minute...” John tried to protest.  “I didn’t expect to pay that much!”

“It’s all here in writing and figures on this bill...words and totals made from your patented letters and numbers,” Beverly challenged with her hands on her hips.

“But...”

“Great idea, Beverly, just add my share to that tab,” I joined.  “Congratulations, John.”

“Oh...” I leaned close to John, “And I’m sure the Supreme Court will be real happy with you once they learn they’ll have to pay you for the letters in their opinion on genetic engineering.”

Steve Coon

April 16, 2013