Although the national reserve cupboard is bare and there’s an IOU taped to the inside, the public still has food on its plate. Their call for heads to roll is purely for symbolic ones. Looking around, though, it’s hard to argue that a single human head has been taken yet in the business world. A handful of large corporations might have fallen, but no person in any leadership role has been held accountable in any way. Just the opposite –everyone in the entire country now seems to be equally responsible.

Even we the frugal have been tagged by the President in his primetime speech about the crisis. We were told that if we didn’t voluntarily consent to the bailout that we could be assured of our share of wrath to come in some kind of greater suffering as well. Ironically, it was we the frugal who weren’t irrationally exuberant over the last two to five years and who were the lone voice at the dinner table about the dangers of national irrational excess.

At least some things are clearer to a wider audience now. More people have seen plenty of big players cash out of the game even quite recently with not only two loaves of bread but an entire cake to go. Yet, we’re told they’ve taken a loss because their tray of pastries has gone missing. As some diners begin discussing the pastries which were on the menu and realize very few were ever really served from the back kitchen, a group of men in suits enter the dining area and remain standing.

One with a pinky ring begins speaking about the new butter tax. Two very large men remain at the front door, lock it, and turn the sign over to “CLOSED”. A handful of diners at a “Reserved” booth don’t cow immediately and an argument ensues. It’s hard to tell where things are going, but many of the diners look back at their plates and shield one side of their face with the side of a hand toward the two small groups of men with raised voices. Violence is never off the table for some people when it comes to money and no one else wants to be caught in the middle.

I’m not suggesting any of this will lead to a bloody revolution complete with guillotines in the public square. This is not central Iraq where the heads of local entrepreneurs executed by another faction are delivered by pick-up truck to the gates of the FOB as a warning against doing further business. I suspect there will be little more than quiet suffering for most and happy times for some in America in the short-term if other catalysts don’t come into play sooner. By long tradition Americans like working, earning money, and accumulating real capital. They still have faith in this and have structured their communities around this way of thinking.

Many years back I graduated from college in a part of the country where jobs were scarce for everyone and competition among recent graduates in all fields for white collar jobs was exceptionally fierce. I had continued living in a university town which did not improve my chances. I took a lot of temporary jobs during that year following graduation as I waited for my fiancé to graduate from the same school. To give some idea of how competitive things were there, the neighborhood quick-mart was staffed by recent graduates who were managed by someone with a Masters degree –and before the stereotypical jokes start let it be known they were all native born from homes where English was not a second language. It was the only language ever known.

One of the things I did right during that time period was scrimping and saving even when I was working and “earning enough” which would have made my depression-era grandparents proud. This was helpful for the dry weeks between short job assignments when I had to eat my savings. I still keep that original savings account book as a reminder of tough times since it shows the build-up of funds followed by its depletion.

There were a few times I cashed savings bonds which were given to me by grandparents (some by then deceased) 10 and 20 years before. I also received help paying some basic bills from my extended family and that of my future in-laws. What I mean by basic bills was during a time before internet, cell-phones, and cable TV somehow became regarded as required lifelines for survival.

When I had real money in hand I either saved it or spent it on what I needed. Although I had a credit card, I was extremely hesitant to use it for anything other than actual living expenses or a real emergency. If I recall correctly, the few times this happened was to keep my vehicle fueled for jobs I already had which I couldn’t walk to or for the weekly grocery runs. Considering the stories of my grandparents on both sides of the family who lived on farms this all came rather naturally for me.

I wish I could say I had a garden during that time period or was somehow living off the land. But, my studio apartment faced onto a paved parking lot and my backyard was an alley with a fenced in private yard behind it. The closest public land for me to hunt on would have eaten more gasoline up front out of my budget than the game it would have provided in edible return.

On a related note, when I went to graduate school in a different state a few years later I found an apartment near a small lake where I did extensive fishing. This worked out quite well for regularly harvesting huge catfish since I was the only fisherman who would go out after sundown in this small city park. Apparently, just about everyone else in the neighborhood was too scared to go out after dark due to local gang activity during the late stage of the crack epidemic.

After crossing the territorial line of spray-painted stars and pitchforks along the back of my brick apartment building I would sit on the bank of the lake with my fishing pole, flashlight, and a really big knife and look across the water deep into “gangsta” territory. There sat the public housing units which were better maintained on the exterior and had more square footage than the apartments rented by a mix of working class families and graduate students like me back over the brick line. Not long afterward my wife and I would make our first real estate investment in our own small home only a couple miles away. When we moved again a few year later that house sold in two hours for a modest profit. It was the very beginning of the real estate boom.

When I think back to the year in the studio apartment, I can still easily recall one bad financial decision I made. At a job interview some ways out of town, I learned about a position with an expanding company which didn’t have any sales people operating in my university town. Although this was commission only, it looked like I would have virgin territory on a line of fire safety products for the home. I had some sales experience in the past which was base plus commission so the idea didn’t really scare me. There was a very long line of people waiting for interviews that day. The white collar offices were in front and at the back was the factory area where pallets of merchandise were being stacked by blue collar workers with a forklift.

At the end of the interview the manager offered me the job, but said I had to attend a one time training orientation in the evening later in the week. Also, since this position would require taking one of their sales kits containing a complete line of working products offsite, I would also have to purchase my own kit. I was told the price would be $160 which had to be paid up front at the training. In the part of the country I lived in back at the time this was equivalent to two days pay at a decent job.

I asked if he could take payment against a future commission which he politely declined. He apologized for this inconvenience and regretted doing this because some bad apples had taken advantage of the company in the past when the kits were free. He said people had sold off the items directly out of the kits themselves and then disappeared with the money.

I came back for the next appointment late in the evening and waited in a large conference room just off the quiet factory floor with one other “sales candidate”. Three men in suits came in –two were the managers I had seen in the building the day of my interview and the other was introduced as their leading salesman for the state. With contained excitement this salesman used informative detail and charm to elaborate upon the company’s three main products which consisted of a halon fire extinguisher, flame retardant spray for household fabrics, and a smoke detector. Each was demonstrated live with fire and smoke to me and the other sales candidate.

Afterwards two boxes with a handle on top and the company logo on the side were brought out. We were shown the working contents of our sales kit which were similar to what had just been demonstrated. Likewise, there were pamphlets and a spiral binder with order forms.

The manager who interviewed me said “Gentlemen, we’ll need you to sign your ‘Sales Associate Agreement’ and receive your kit payments at this time.”

At this point the kits were re-packed and placed in front of each of us on the table along with documents consisting of much fine print. Without any hesitation the other young man signed his document at the bottom of page 1 and began writing out a check. I started to read the document. The pages behind it were each a different color and when I peeled it open along the perforation at the bottom the text was different on each page. The only thing which remained the same was the signature block at the bottom for the carbon copies underneath.

“Chris, this is just a standard sales contract,” said the manager who had interviewed me.

“There’s a lot here to read,” I said without lifting my eyes up. The other two men in suits were shaking hands and thanking the other young man for ‘joining the team’. He took his kit and left the room. The other two men in suits joined the first who was hovering over me. I was almost at the bottom of page 1.

“What’s the hold up here?” Stated flatly rather than questioned the second manager.

“I think Chris must be stuck on something on page 1,” said manager one.

“I don’t know what that could possibly be,” said the second. “The language is in simple English. He does at least have a college education, doesn’t he?”

“I believe so,” said the first “I can check his resume again if you’d like.”

Upon hearing this I actually worried that I was going to mess something up, miss this job opportunity and looked up. It was then that I noticed all three suited men standing around me tightly clustered far inside what most Americans would consider their personal bubble space. Each manager was standing behind the table within inches of me on each side and the state sale leader was standing and leaning in across the narrow table with his arms straight down and his fingers spidered out on the top. About all I could stammer out was a half-muted “Um” as my vision re-focused.

Number two quickly pointed down to ‘$160’ in a paragraph on page one and said “See, right there, that’s the only thing you’re obligated to pay us in your contract.”

“Come on, Chris” said number one. “You’ll be good at this.”

“What’s the hold-up, Chris?” said the sales leader in my face, now less excited and becoming gruff.

“I just need some time to read this,” I said in a polite tone appropriate for a library.

“We have other people scheduled to come in this evening,” said number two. “Now we’re all going to be running late.”

“Well, there are only so many kits to go around anyway,” number one said. “We might need to save this one for a different sales associate.”

“Maybe this isn’t going to work out after all,” said number two.

The three had been verbally tag teaming off each rather quickly. Without further reading I signed page one and the carbon chemicals underneath bled copies of my signature onto the other unread pages.

“We’ll need your check now, Chris, for the full amount of $160” said number one.”

“Come on, Chris” said the sales leader. “We know you’re up to this.”

“We’re already running behind,” said number two as the tag team circle began to start again.

I began scrawling out the check so I could avoid more merry-go-round banter and mentally planned exiting the room and getting to my car. With the second signature on the check the deed was done and I, too, was thanked profusely for joining the team. I was escorted all the way to the outside door and got an encouraging pat on the back by manager one as I left. I sat down in my car and knew intuitively that I had already made a mistake.

“Dude,” said one of my friends who was still in his senior year at college and had just finished reading my contract a week later. “You just got so hosed. Didn’t you read this thing?”

“Not parts of it close enough I guess,” I said. Out of embarrassment I didn’t really want to say much else at the moment.

“You get something like 10% of total sales, but this paragraph towards the end states that you have to get a certifying statement from each client that they’re the home-owner at the address where the product is being shipped. There’s also something about a copy of their home-owners insurance policy. Dude, everyone in town here is a renter and it’s not like people are going to have a copier at home anyway. You’re going to have to drive out of town and burn gas just to find someone to sell this stuff. Even if a household bought all three of these items, you’d see something like $9 come back to you. Not to mention the company can take up to 90 days to pay you after the final payment from the client has cleared. In your sales slip binder it looks like clients can make four equal payments on orders over $100, but your contract said you had to buy your entire kit up front.”

“Yes,” I said. “I did.”

“What’s in your kit?” He asked.

I opened the cardboard box and showed him the three items. He looked at each and the size noted on the label before looking again in the company catalog and order sheets.

“Dude!” he blurted out.

“I know,” I said calmly.

“Dude, this junk is like the mini-sized stuff they offer. It’s probably $60 worth of their product, a binder, some pamphlets and a big shoebox. I think you were the actual customer for this.”

“I know,” I said again blandly. “I think ‘customer’ is a nice word for what I was.”

“I didn’t want to call you a chump,” he smiled “at least not to your face. What are you going to do about all this?”

“I haven’t used anything in the kit,” I said. “I will give it back to them and get my money back.”

“Good luck with that.”

I drove back to the company a week later. I can’t remember if I was living on the credit card or family charity that week since I drove up in the middle of the week during the day. There was only one car out front when I arrived. A different receptionist was at the front desk. I introduced myself to her as one of their sales associates from “down south” and asked to speak with the manager I met less than two weeks before.

“He’s moved to another one of our new offices,” she said. “But, you’re in luck because our regional director is here today. Go out back to the factory floor.”

I thanked her and strolled to the large back area which had been bustling with activity during the day of my first visit. A man in a polo shirt and slacks stood with his back toward me smoking a cigarette by an open overhead door at the loading dock. I looked around and noticed the complete lack of activity in what should have been a busy dayshift in a factory. I saw a single idle shrink-wrap machine, some large bulk boxes full of the three main items in the kit box and a couple pallets of stacked sales kits nearby. I had worked in factories and there wasn’t anything which indicated any actual manufacturing had been going on there. What I saw indicated what I had known as packaging.

I walked up to the man who turned around and smiled at me and put out his cigarette on the ground. He extended for a handshake which I reflexively met. He introduced himself and likewise I gave my name and said I had recently bought a sales kit.

“I want my money back,” I said directly. “I haven’t used any of the kit. Everything is in my car in the condition I received it.”

“We don’t refund kits once they’ve left the building,” he said. “It’s in your contract.”

“I can’t afford this,” I said. “This was like some sort of high pressure sales thing. The whole way it was done took advantage of me.”

“You signed your name,” he said. “No one forced you to sign your name.”

“What you guys are doing isn’t right,” I said.

“We, and that’s also you now,” he began “sell fire safety equipment for the home. It’s that simple. You just need to start making some sales and this will work out for you. You’ll make some money if you give it a chance.”

“This so-called contract isn’t going to work out that way for me and you know it,” I said and was amazed at how I continued to remain calm during all this. “I want my money back today.”

“That’s not going to happen,” he said dryly. “You signed a legal contract. It’s yours now. And you know that.”

“What you guys do here is wrong –this isn’t even a real business.”

“Well what can you do about that?” He said. “Take me to court? It’ll cost you more than you paid and with your signature you’ve already lost.”

I probably started to look a little visibly angry at that point.

“Just consider it tuition money,” he said before motioning back toward the door. “You know you’re way out the front door. Good bye.”

I left. I felt he was right about court. I felt any more time and trips spent addressing the matter was just going to waste more gas and put me further into debt. A few weeks later I drove by the company’s building on the way to another destination and noticed there were no cars in the parking lot and the name had been removed from the front of the building.

A few months went by and my friend also graduated from college and ended up at a sales seminar. We met up for a beer and he said it was the same scam, but under a different name. They had changed their approach a little and rather than individual interviews followed by separate training sessions, everything was done in one large group sitting. The prospective interviewees were taken straight to the sales pitch and asked to make deposits on their sales kits.

“Dude, people were eating this stuff up left and right,” he said. “I even said something out loud to the group. I said that hey this was totally bogus and one of my buds had already been scammed by these same guys earlier this year. People wrote them checks anyway!”

“Were they still doing the contracts?” I asked.

“Nah,” he laughed. “It was like buy your kit and start today. I warned them and they kept lapping it up. I gave up and totally bailed on them. What a bunch of losers. Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“But the way you told me, they had to work you. It was like three on one. This time it was thirty people and the three of them. I’ll bet half the room wrote them a check. If someone didn’t have the full amount, they took deposits. People were like reaching into their wallets and throwing down twenties on the table.”

“I guess I don’t feel as bad. But, really, I’m over it.”

“Dude, it’s not like you put your life’s savings in the Billionaire Boys Club or some shady S&L out West. Now that would be stupid,” he said and a pitcher of beer arrived at the table. “Here’s to the future, dude. Now let’s drink.”


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