Rite of passage has been a part of most civilizations since the beginning of time. American Indians used to leave their sons in the woods where there they would hunt and spend 3 days discovering themselves and becoming men. The Aborigines of Australia would go “walk about” at the age of 13 for six months following the paths of ancient ancestors, copying their heroic deeds. Japanese coming-of-age rites lead youth to shrines where they would be presented with adult clothing and new names. Generally American’s have associated leaving for college or taking a job in a different city as our own rite of passage. Occasionally youth have this experience when a parent finally kicks them out. And of course, those would all be correct, except we are pushing aside the other rite of passage, the one that nearly 75 percent of people have fallen prey to at least once (*statistics were formulated in my head to make me feel better so you can take it or leave it). Well, at least I did.
A few nights ago as Jarom and I lay in bed talking I remembered a story I never told him. It could have been shame that pushed it into the back of my head, but it was more likely that I never really thought about how funny and common the incident actually was. Either way I begin to tell him about the summer after my freshman year of college when was suckered into a pyramid scheme by a black man- named Leon.
I’m not sure where I met him exactly. I’m positive I didn’t answer a help wanted add. It was more likely my number was given to him by an employment agency. Shame on them. At any rate, somehow he called me and we set up an appointment to meet. He informed me that he worked with a reputable company which offered excellent pricing on phone and cable TV packages. And of course, the pay was lucrative. Sign me up, right?
When I met him I was taken back by who I had expected to meet and who was actually standing in front of me.
Leon wore an entirely white suit, white belt, white shoes and a light shirt, if I am correct it was silver. In a word he was a cross between a biblical character impersonation from Mad TV and a back up dancer on soul train. (“Oh my gosh,” Jarom said braking into my story, his voice feigning alarm, “It was totally the devil.”) I’m sure he was attempting to borrow the look from an old Boyz 2 Men CD, but the look was more Miami Vice then R&B. There was simply not enough gold.
Sirens should have been wailing in my head but I was young and the promise of money was luring. So I followed him down the hall in that building that looked like a converted campus/church/labrynth. It made sense really. First they would try to educate you on the company, if that didn’t work they would convert you, and if you were still stubborn they would bank on the hope you would become hopelessly lost and pay 25 dollars just to be released. One way or another they’d get you.
The afternoon began with me and 30 other poor suckers watching a “motivational” video. I was particularly impressed with the cancer patient who paid off his medical bills using their amazing company in only 1 year. The U.S. Marine with a missing leg, and the single mother with the flashy platinum grill (for the adults a grill is rap jargon for crazy dental work) who saved her family from the slums of east LA were equally impressive as well. The strange part was that the people who had made insane amounts of money in this company resembled the white trash couples on the billboards to Las Vegas who'd won millions of dollars on a dollar slot machine. "Well Bob" they'd tell the reporter, "first we're going to get some dental work done and then we will buy matching lazyboys and TV dinner stands." I wondered how they had been so successful when they looked more like people who'd found wealth through Larry H. Parker, people who didn't speak english, or at least not the english I grew up with.
It was also somewhat disturbing to see words like “motivation”, “opportunity”, and “income beyond your wildest dreams” flash onto the screen during their moving testimonials. More impressive was that they managed to do this while keeping their other jobs. Still I had doubts. Would this company work for me? I had no motivation, I just wanted to earn some spending money. What they were lacking in the video was the guy that said, “I just wanted to earn money, not change my life.” Him I could have identified with.
After the video we had a luncheon. They served decent sandwiches, chips, diet coke and fruit. Though they didn’t say it, this was a chance to mingle with the other recruits and profiting members in a second attempt to convince us. I started to get suspicious when one of the “recruits” kept saying, “Wow, this company seem’s great! I am definity going to join!” in a repetative robotic voice. Folks I’m afraid to say it but for whatever reason I drank the kool-aid, well the diet coke. After that everything was a blur. There was another session with a live evangelist pr-teacher while members like Leon shouted “Amen!” to his questions of “Who no longer wants to be a slave to their debt?!” “Who wants to take charge of their life?!” “Who wants to live like the other half?!” Well duh… who doesn't? But who wants to get suckered into a job where you will waste hours of your life only to either lose more money, or never make back on your initial investment? Of course these thoughts came a bit late.
When I woke up out of the stupor of future riches a few hours later I was 25 dollars shy and wondering what had happened. How had I allowed myself to pay 25 bucks to this ridiculous company? Not only had I forked over 25 dollars but Leon had gotten me to write down the number of every soul I ever knew (not to exclude my 1st grade teacher), which being a Mormon was a lot. I was a golden contact. This would be the list I would work off for the next few days as I made my fortune.
My first and only call was to a lady in my ward. I asked her if she’s like to save a bundle by switching her phone and internet plan to a totally comprehensive plan that would cover all her communication needs (this all said in a chipper exaggerated tone inflected voice). After a long silence in which I’m sure both of us were figuring out what to say (me to apologize for putting her through this moment and for the next few months where we would look awkwardly at each other and pretend the strange exchange never happened), her to let me down easy) she declined. Thank you I said, my eyes burning as I hung up the phone in shame.
To my left a zombie feverishly called random numbers out of the phone book, his red eyes dazed as he introduced himself over and over to the click on the other end. I wondered how long he’d be locked in this room or if he'd had any success. His look of frustration answered the question and my future of big bucks combusted. Moments later Leon entered in a fabulous mood with my new “executive” folder. The one I don’t remember buying, but feeling my wallet one check lighter for.
“Can I have my 25 dollars back?” I asked lamely.
“No.” he said, his tone changing from jovial to icy in .67ths of a second obviously he had been expecting this. “That twenty five dollars paid for your associates kit.”
I looked at the kit and wondered what had cost 25 dollars. Inside the pleather “executive” folder there was a cheap pad of legal paper, a pen with a nib that slid to the side if you pressed too hard, and Leon’s very own business card. What he didn’t say, but actually meant was that my 25 dollars was actually going towards another flashy ensemble, possibly a canary yellow or magenta with gold pinstripes suit he had on lay-away, and my return of money would greatly detriment his ability to pick it up sooner. Either way it was obvious I was not getting my 25 dollars back.
Of course it was pointless to argue the point. I wasn’t getting my 25 bucks back, he wasn’t getting any more time out of me. “Well, Leon,” I said warmly , “I wish you and your circus suits the best. I am off to mope around for the rest of the summer and bum off my parents.” Ok, I didn’t actually say that, instead I snuck out of the building after he left me to my calls and ran to my car, looking side to side to see if I was being followed. I wasn’t of course. I think.
Hearing other people’s experiences with those companies makes me feel a little better about myself. I am definitely not alone, many people go through this rite of passage. My only regret was that I wished I had eaten another sandwich. That was the most expensive lunch of my life.
*Honorable mention to Jarom who inspired a few of the references here and ideas for jokes. He cracks me up.
