The Pitch

It was late on a Tuesday night. I was scrolling through Facebook when the message popped up. The name was familiar though I had to think back to remember how I knew him. We had been in a marketing group in college together. Now, it had been eight years since I’d graduated and he was at least one year ahead of me. We hadn’t spoken at all, as far as I could remember, in the interim. So, what did he have to say?
He was working a side job for a company that was looking for marketers to do some work-from-home type jobs. He didn’t get much into it over messenger but wanted to meet up to discuss it further. We agreed to meet at a Panera about an hours drive from each of us. At this point, I thought it was odd, but decided that it was one of those “it’s not what you know but who you know” situations.
Our meeting day and time came and he arrived. He was as pleasant and friendly as I remembered. He launched into a spiel about the “opportunity” and the training that came with it. There was a brief discussion of the potential earnings, which seemed to depend on how much time you put into it. But people could earn a few hundred dollars a month putting in a few hours a week.
When we got to the next steps, things went a little sideways. There was a recruitment event the following week. I would have to drive a couple of hours into the city after working eight hours at my full-time job. But, I told myself, if this was legit it would be worth it. My last thought as we said our goodbyes was that I hadn’t caught the name of the company this was all for. I assumed I had missed hearing him say it and was at that point too embarrassed to ask.
A few days later, I’m dressed up and jazzed for this recruitment event. I had been saving up to buy a new car and I thought adding even an extra hundred dollars a month would be beneficial. I pulled up to the Holiday Inn Express and made my way inside. My friend was waiting for me, as were a long line of other people. We were soon shown into a conference room where my friend led us straight to the front. I looked around and noticed that there were no banners with the company name. A screen had the first slide of a presentation projected onto it, with no company name in sight. Alarm bells had started going off in my head, but I told myself I was being silly.
The first speaker was a woman in her mid- to late-thirties. She was a little lackluster, but she was simply setting up the main speaker. I wish I could remember his name. We’ll call him David. David is also in his mid- to late-thirties. His wife was the woman who introduced him. He is wearing a dark blue, exquisitely tailored suit. His hair styled, his hands manicured. Everything about him screaming “I care about my appearance”.
This man is warming us up like a stand-up comedian. He’s cracking jokes and asking people where they’re from. Asking what brought them there that night. He asks people their names, which we will come back to later. He makes eye contact with me frequently, which makes my inner introvert very anxious. Finally, we get into the presentation.
The first slide seems normal. David felt like he wasn’t making the money he deserved climbing the corporate ladder. He wanted to start his own business, work his own hours. He’s playing the crowd of restaurant busboys, stay at home moms, and hair stylists.
Then the second slide clicked into place. I guarantee you if anyone would have been looking at me at that moment, my facial expression dropped. What company logo was now emblazoned on the screen? Amway. I nearly stood up and walked out. I probably should have, all told. But a part of me was also curious.
Now, if you haven’t heard of Amway, let me take a brief moment to fill you in. Amway is one of the OG Multi-level marketing companies (or MLMs). They offer everything from dish soap to energy drinks at ridiculous markups. And then they get people to pressure their friends and family into buying them. There have been jokes about them for decades. My first introduction was in a throwaway line in 1995’s “The American President”. President Andrew Shepherd, in speaking of his rival, says, “That crowd was about to buy some Amway products”. At one time, people knew Amway for coercing broke college kids into joining their ranks.
Back to the story. Now I know what I’m dealing with and I’m fuming. The sales pitch continues. You aren’t working for Amway. No, you’re an independent business owner. You have to pay like $250 to set up a website, get an LLC, and get a few samples of products. And then they get to the payment tiers. I almost lost it. You were supposed to sell $300 worth of crap per month. Half of that was meant to be you buying products instead of shopping at Walmart. And what do you get in return? $9. Now, they didn’t say that. They said 3%. And I’m pretty sure I was the only one in the room doing the math on that.
So, you want me to bust my hump trying to get people to switch from Dawn dish soap to Amway dish soap at twice the price? And all I get in return is the equivalent of a Big Mac, fries, drink, and an ice cream cone per month? Not a chance. But David, oh David, he made it seem so appealing. And he played on all of the Millenial fears. Being stuck in a low paying job, not having money to buy a house, not fulfilling your potential. And the worst bit, the part that made the whole thing seem like a bad cult? The relationships.
It seems that a big thing in the Amway sellers community is dating and marrying each other. The person who dragged me to this seminar? His fiance sells Amway. Our friend David? His wife also sells Amway. There were several slides of the presentation about the many couples who had found each other through selling Amway. It was creepy.
And then there was the big push at the end. Loads of empowering buzzwords. Calls to action up the wazoo. And a continual reminder that they don’t let “just anyone” sell Amway. Oh no, it was only if they thought you were the “right fit” for the job. And I glanced around me then. People were hooked.
The seminar ended, the lights came up, and I tried to get out as possible. Unfortunately, I’m too nice for my own good. My friend led me out into the vestibule where I was introduced to his upline. Videos sent to my phone. A Google Hangout was set up for the following Monday for his upline and me to “chat further”. I was too polite. I couldn’t say no straight to their face, I kept hedging that I would need to “think on it”.
I finally made it into my car. And I took off as fast as I could, not wanting to get caught up in another sales pitch where I would sign away my soul. The whole two-hour car ride home, my blood boiled. My friend had betrayed me on the deepest level. I had trusted my friend when he said this was a great opportunity. I had trusted that the job was real. I had trusted that he was trying to get me into his downline where he could suck me dry while I floundered.
The moral of this story is: If “friends” from college that you haven’t spoken to for a while want to meet up for coffee, tell them to **** off.