Soap flakes and snake oil
Jay Van Andel, co-founder of Scamway...er...Amway, the world's largest pyramid scheme-slash-materialistic quasi-cult masquerading as a legitimate business enterprise, has died at age 80. There is apparently no truth to the rumor that all Double Diamond Distributors now move up one notch in the food chain.
More than 20 years ago, when KJ and I were dating, a mutual acquaintance tried to recruit me into Amway. Because this person was nominally a friend of ours, he allowed me to peruse some of the company's training materials — the stuff people outside the Amway cabal are never supposed to see. I could scarcely believe that an organization based almost entirely upon getting people to deceive and manipulate their friends, associates, and family members (i.e., "Never tell a prospect you're recruiting him for Amway until he's sold on the concept"; "If asked, 'Is this Amway?' respond with a question, such as, 'Why? What have you heard about Amway?'") could exist, much less succeed, without getting taken down by every bunco squad in American law enforcement.
Then, during our first year of marriage, I was an assistant manager in a retail store when I was approached by a customer — a business traveler from Oregon — who wanted to talk with me about a "unique business opportunity." I knew right away, just from the furtive way the man described his "opportunity," that he was an Amway distributor. But I figured that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, so I didn't let on that I knew. That evening, I went home and told KJ, "I met a guy today who wants me to sell Amway."
This fellow flew down from Portland to central California just for the purpose of taking KJ and me out to dinner so he could pitch his proposal to us. I accepted the invitation — at the time, we were subsisting on five-boxes-for-a-buck supermarket-generic macaroni and cheese, so I wasn't about to turn down a free meal that included actual meat. He met us at a swank local restaurant (hey, when you're flat broke, Stuart Anderson's Black Angus is pretty darned swank) and plied us with prime rib to get us in an agreeable mood.
For about an hour, KJ and I sat with our eyeballs glazing over like Krispy Kreme doughnuts as the snake oil salesman rattled off his vague, no-specifics spiel about limitless earning potential and financial independence. When, as Popeye would put it, I'd had all I can stands and I can't stands no more, I leaned across the table, looked the man in the eye, and asked him, "So...when do we get to the part about Amway?"
He sat back in his chair as though I'd slapped him. "When did you know?" he asked.
"The first day I met you," I replied.
"Are you interested, then?"
"Mr. [name deleted to protect the guilty], you couldn't rope me into Amway if we were homeless and Amway was the last business on Earth."
Our mysterious benefactor then got huffy because I'd accepted his invitation to dinner and allowed him to make a lengthy and expensive trip just to speak with us, knowing all along that I had no intention of accepting his proposal. "Blame yourself for that," I told him bluntly. "Had you been forthright enough on the day we met to say, 'I'd like to talk with you about Amway,' I'd have told you then and there that I wasn't interested. But because you decided to play this deal like a CIA covert op and not admit what you were up to, you just cost yourself a round-trip plane ticket and dinner for three."
He was still peeved, but he also knew that a snot-nosed kid had just outscammed the scammer. We wrapped up quickly, like a couple having just realized they're on the blind date from hell, and parted company in the parking lot. I never heard from the guy again.
According to Forbes magazine, Jay Van Andel was the 231st richest person in the world, with a net worth of $2.3 billion. Now you understand the tactics by which he and his partner Rich DeVos gained such enormous wealth. And to think, your mom always taught you that honesty was the best policy.
If they buried the late Mr. Van Andel in a pyramid like the pharaohs of Egypt, nothing would be more fitting.
More than 20 years ago, when KJ and I were dating, a mutual acquaintance tried to recruit me into Amway. Because this person was nominally a friend of ours, he allowed me to peruse some of the company's training materials — the stuff people outside the Amway cabal are never supposed to see. I could scarcely believe that an organization based almost entirely upon getting people to deceive and manipulate their friends, associates, and family members (i.e., "Never tell a prospect you're recruiting him for Amway until he's sold on the concept"; "If asked, 'Is this Amway?' respond with a question, such as, 'Why? What have you heard about Amway?'") could exist, much less succeed, without getting taken down by every bunco squad in American law enforcement.
Then, during our first year of marriage, I was an assistant manager in a retail store when I was approached by a customer — a business traveler from Oregon — who wanted to talk with me about a "unique business opportunity." I knew right away, just from the furtive way the man described his "opportunity," that he was an Amway distributor. But I figured that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, so I didn't let on that I knew. That evening, I went home and told KJ, "I met a guy today who wants me to sell Amway."
This fellow flew down from Portland to central California just for the purpose of taking KJ and me out to dinner so he could pitch his proposal to us. I accepted the invitation — at the time, we were subsisting on five-boxes-for-a-buck supermarket-generic macaroni and cheese, so I wasn't about to turn down a free meal that included actual meat. He met us at a swank local restaurant (hey, when you're flat broke, Stuart Anderson's Black Angus is pretty darned swank) and plied us with prime rib to get us in an agreeable mood.
For about an hour, KJ and I sat with our eyeballs glazing over like Krispy Kreme doughnuts as the snake oil salesman rattled off his vague, no-specifics spiel about limitless earning potential and financial independence. When, as Popeye would put it, I'd had all I can stands and I can't stands no more, I leaned across the table, looked the man in the eye, and asked him, "So...when do we get to the part about Amway?"
He sat back in his chair as though I'd slapped him. "When did you know?" he asked.
"The first day I met you," I replied.
"Are you interested, then?"
"Mr. [name deleted to protect the guilty], you couldn't rope me into Amway if we were homeless and Amway was the last business on Earth."
Our mysterious benefactor then got huffy because I'd accepted his invitation to dinner and allowed him to make a lengthy and expensive trip just to speak with us, knowing all along that I had no intention of accepting his proposal. "Blame yourself for that," I told him bluntly. "Had you been forthright enough on the day we met to say, 'I'd like to talk with you about Amway,' I'd have told you then and there that I wasn't interested. But because you decided to play this deal like a CIA covert op and not admit what you were up to, you just cost yourself a round-trip plane ticket and dinner for three."
He was still peeved, but he also knew that a snot-nosed kid had just outscammed the scammer. We wrapped up quickly, like a couple having just realized they're on the blind date from hell, and parted company in the parking lot. I never heard from the guy again.
According to Forbes magazine, Jay Van Andel was the 231st richest person in the world, with a net worth of $2.3 billion. Now you understand the tactics by which he and his partner Rich DeVos gained such enormous wealth. And to think, your mom always taught you that honesty was the best policy.
If they buried the late Mr. Van Andel in a pyramid like the pharaohs of Egypt, nothing would be more fitting.
SwanShadow was randomly pounding the keyboard at 9:42 AM
1 insisted on sticking two cents in:
Brilliant! And you got a free dinner out of it two. I wish I had $1 for every person that tried to "recruit" me over the years. Then I WOULD have a ton of money like they promise.
Catt
http://cativa.blogspot.com
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