ANYONE CAN BE SUCCESSFUL WITH THIS NETWORK MARKETING BUS! NO SELLING! PAYS WEEKLY!” This is exactly the opportunity I’m looking for. As a stock option-less temp whose friends in e-commerce buy cars for twice the amount of my college loans, I can relate to the mainstream pipe dream of fast cash. The classified ad’s boast “No selling!” is a big plus.
The woman who answers my call introduces herself as Liz and starts off boldly, asking if I want to make money, save money, or both. “Both!” I cry. She explains that I can save buckets of money by doing all my shopping through their consumer network—everything from jewelry to groceries to unlimited long distance calling. Then she gets down to the real business at hand: If shell out $199 and start recruiting others, Top Secrets, Inc. of Junction City, Kansas, will pay me $100 per recruit. Liz says I can easily make $500 week. I’m skeptical. I ask for references.
“OK, OK,” she says, sounding slightly annoyed. “We have one guy working for us, his name is Big Mac, and Big Mac earned $10K his first month.” I ask for Big Mac’s number. “We can’t give out client information” she snaps. Can I leave my number for Big Mac to contact me? No, Big Mac will not be available for questioning at any time. I tell Liz it’s hard for me to turn down this obviously rewarding moneymaking venture for a mere $199, but that my creditors are barely at bay. Liz is unfazed, insisting that I can recoup my start-up costs within two days. I, however, am not so confident.
After calling two more toll-free numbers of other lucrative business opportunities only to find they’ve been disconnected, another ad catches my eye. “NEED MORE MONEY?” it teases. “Don’t have time for another job? Earn $1,200 this week!” While the other ads have been vague about my earning potential, offering only subjective terms like “big money” and “quick $$$,” this one provides a nice, neat figure. I do some quick computations. This would mean I’d be pulling in $62K a year, and, figuring in taxes and living expenses, I could pay off my student loan in about two years. My mind races with the possibilities. A savings account worthy of the word “savings,” maybe even . . . gasp . . . an IRA! Within minutes, my fantasy earnings are invested in socially responsible mutual funds. And, with a few changes in lifestyle, an early retirement awaits!
I call immediately. The recording is produced by Excel Communications, which claims to be the fourth largest telecommunications company in the country. I’m quite impressed by their message, with its lively and to-the-point testimonials, including those of a single mom who can now pay for her kids’ college tuition, a Harvard Business School graduate, a corrections officer no longer saddled with credit card debt, and a former US state senator.
Margaret, an Excel “Area Coordinator,” meets me at a downtown Starbucks. It’s right before Christmas, and the store is packed. Margaret manages to secure us a table and sets up shop immediately, whipping out pamphlets and a leather-look day planner/organizer. When she opens the planner, I notice that some of the pages are upside down, facing me. This is no mistake: I’m clearly supposed to “follow along” as she presents. A bulleted sentence stating that I will not be asked to purchase any products puts me at ease. I was a little hesitant about doing my grocery shopping through a vendor in Junction City.
Our meeting takes a downward turn when Margaret looks me directly in the eye and tells me, “I truly believe this is the best business opportunity you will ever encounter.” I start to get a little uncomfortable. Margaret sounds nothing like the articulate, down-to-earth people on the recording, and the way she pauses and stares after making this grand pronouncement smacks of desperation. A man at the next table is eavesdropping. His knowing smirk makes me want to grab my latte and bolt.
Margaret explains that by selling long distance and Internet services to my friends and family, and by recruiting three new reps, I stand to make $1,200 within the first week—if, and here’s the if—my recruits each recruit eight others.
I interrupt her spiel to ask how much she’s earning per week. Company policy forbids her from disclosing this.
Then, the final blow: In order to receive the necessary training and tools (including Margaret’s presentation/planner thingie), I must shell out $275. And did she mention that I’d have to pay a renewal fee each year? And that even if I could pull off earning that $1,200, it’s a special introductory incentive, and that future compensation would not be so generous? And the voicemail? Actually, that costs about $50 a month.
My visions of early retirement are stubbed out in an instant. At this rate, I’ll hit menopause before those loans are paid off. Mostly, I’m left with a sick feeling in my stomach. When I look up an Excel book on Amazon.com, the customer reviews are dominated by tales of disgruntled ex-Excel reps. I think about all the strapped souls out there who face serious financial hardship—the kinds that dwarf my measly college debt—to whom Margaret’s decoys may prove too seductive. For all my whining, at least I have something to show for my money. No matter how devalued a liberal arts degree is these days, it’s still something. And as easy as these ads make it sound, one can’t hide from the conventional wisdom that what sounds too good to good be true probably is. Especially if you shell out close to $300 for a pleather planner and a handful of pamphlets.
