Today I got my first job offer since moving to California. I am sitting in the mall's
kiddie playland, watching Eleanor toddle about, when the mom near me starts up a
conversation. In the beginning, it’s normal mall mom conversation, "How old is your
girl," "What's her name," "Gosh she's a cutie," type stuff designed to be friendly but
not to actually make any friends. Then she asks me if I stay home with Nell. And
because I'm looking for work, I figure that telling people this is the best way to actually
hear about jobs. So I answer honestly.
She doesn’t respond, so I ask her about her work situation. She used to work in HR,
she tells me, but after her second child, she started selling beauty products from
home. Had I ever heard of …..? And here she names a very up and coming direct
marketing cosmetics company which I've agreed not to name here, so let's just say
that it rhymes with Schmarbonne.
Schmarbonne, it turns out is a beauty and wellness company that specializes in anti-
aging and weight-loss products. She's done so well with selling it that she's making
the same amount now as she made working in HR for a bank, only now she gets to
stay home full-time with her babies, and her skin looks more fabulous than she ever
thought possible. Isn't that amazing? I have to grant here that her skin is lovely, and
her waistline is tiny, so if she's a spokesperson for the line, they've selected well.
They have make-up, a line for babies, vitamin supplements, and more types of
cleansers and cremes than you can count. She is sure that she has some samples
with her. Am I interested in anti-aging products?
Here, I have a few choices. I can run for the hills, which is my initial impulse, or I can
thank her politely for the samples and actually let Eleanor continue playing, or I can
flatly refuse to participate in any way in any direct marketing deals and sit here
uncomfortably trying not to make eye contact for the next half hour or so. I opt to
take the samples, for the sake of ease and politeness, and because who doesn't
want anti-aging serum?
Her name is Kim, I learn. She's done so well with Schmarbonne that now she has her
own team of salespeople. The products are amazing, she tells me. They actually do
what they claim to do. They practically sell themselves. Here my heart sinks, and I
realize belatedly that running for the hills was the right choice. Without her ever quite
saying it I figure out that Schmarbonne is a "Multi-level Marketing" scheme which is
the new code word for "pyramid." Think Amway, only with better products.
Kim says she thinks I would be really good at selling Schmarbonne (of course she
does). I have the right "persona" - she can tell, even though I've barely said a word
the whole time (if only she knew). Then Linda comes into the play area. Kim knows
Linda because Linda buys Schmarbonne products. Apparently the products don't
have quite the same magnificent effects on Linda. She's about 80 pounds
overweight, and pretty clearly has some rough blotches on her face. She's like the
anti-spokesperson for the product line - she's obviously trying to look pretty, but it
isn't quite working, and she just looks sort-of schlubby instead. Kim and Linda are
friends, so I decide to leave while Kim is distracted. I say many thanks for the
samples, grab Nell and go.
The thing is that the products are actually very nice. I've been using the samples for
a few days, and I really like them. They cost about the same as my current line, but
actually work a bit better, and I might even be tempted to switch. Except that I know I
won't. And I know I won't because I hate direct marketing. I hate the idea of living in
a world where every friend you have is selling kitchen tools, or make-up, or baskets,
or candles, or pre-paid legal services, or clothes. I hate the idea of being invited to a
"party" only to be expected to buy something. I hate the idea that a friendly
conversation at the park might at any point turn into a sales pitch. I hate that I am
marketed to at virtually every turn anyway, and I desperately want to avoid marketing
in the exchanges I have with friends. The kind of world where Kim sells
Schmarbonne to random women at the mall is not the world I want to live in. I hate
that so many people only see me as a woman with a dollar sign on her forehead.
Fortunately this Schmarbonne blemish remover has rendered it nearly invisible.
Christiana Thomas spends most of her time breathing. Additionally, she tries to
prevent her baby girl from falling off things, feels slightly self-conscious about her
belly, and cultivates a highly literary sense of righteous indignation. She is still
looking for full-time employment.
kiddie playland, watching Eleanor toddle about, when the mom near me starts up a
conversation. In the beginning, it’s normal mall mom conversation, "How old is your
girl," "What's her name," "Gosh she's a cutie," type stuff designed to be friendly but
not to actually make any friends. Then she asks me if I stay home with Nell. And
because I'm looking for work, I figure that telling people this is the best way to actually
hear about jobs. So I answer honestly.
She doesn’t respond, so I ask her about her work situation. She used to work in HR,
she tells me, but after her second child, she started selling beauty products from
home. Had I ever heard of …..? And here she names a very up and coming direct
marketing cosmetics company which I've agreed not to name here, so let's just say
that it rhymes with Schmarbonne.
Schmarbonne, it turns out is a beauty and wellness company that specializes in anti-
aging and weight-loss products. She's done so well with selling it that she's making
the same amount now as she made working in HR for a bank, only now she gets to
stay home full-time with her babies, and her skin looks more fabulous than she ever
thought possible. Isn't that amazing? I have to grant here that her skin is lovely, and
her waistline is tiny, so if she's a spokesperson for the line, they've selected well.
They have make-up, a line for babies, vitamin supplements, and more types of
cleansers and cremes than you can count. She is sure that she has some samples
with her. Am I interested in anti-aging products?
Here, I have a few choices. I can run for the hills, which is my initial impulse, or I can
thank her politely for the samples and actually let Eleanor continue playing, or I can
flatly refuse to participate in any way in any direct marketing deals and sit here
uncomfortably trying not to make eye contact for the next half hour or so. I opt to
take the samples, for the sake of ease and politeness, and because who doesn't
want anti-aging serum?
Her name is Kim, I learn. She's done so well with Schmarbonne that now she has her
own team of salespeople. The products are amazing, she tells me. They actually do
what they claim to do. They practically sell themselves. Here my heart sinks, and I
realize belatedly that running for the hills was the right choice. Without her ever quite
saying it I figure out that Schmarbonne is a "Multi-level Marketing" scheme which is
the new code word for "pyramid." Think Amway, only with better products.
Kim says she thinks I would be really good at selling Schmarbonne (of course she
does). I have the right "persona" - she can tell, even though I've barely said a word
the whole time (if only she knew). Then Linda comes into the play area. Kim knows
Linda because Linda buys Schmarbonne products. Apparently the products don't
have quite the same magnificent effects on Linda. She's about 80 pounds
overweight, and pretty clearly has some rough blotches on her face. She's like the
anti-spokesperson for the product line - she's obviously trying to look pretty, but it
isn't quite working, and she just looks sort-of schlubby instead. Kim and Linda are
friends, so I decide to leave while Kim is distracted. I say many thanks for the
samples, grab Nell and go.
The thing is that the products are actually very nice. I've been using the samples for
a few days, and I really like them. They cost about the same as my current line, but
actually work a bit better, and I might even be tempted to switch. Except that I know I
won't. And I know I won't because I hate direct marketing. I hate the idea of living in
a world where every friend you have is selling kitchen tools, or make-up, or baskets,
or candles, or pre-paid legal services, or clothes. I hate the idea of being invited to a
"party" only to be expected to buy something. I hate the idea that a friendly
conversation at the park might at any point turn into a sales pitch. I hate that I am
marketed to at virtually every turn anyway, and I desperately want to avoid marketing
in the exchanges I have with friends. The kind of world where Kim sells
Schmarbonne to random women at the mall is not the world I want to live in. I hate
that so many people only see me as a woman with a dollar sign on her forehead.
Fortunately this Schmarbonne blemish remover has rendered it nearly invisible.
Christiana Thomas spends most of her time breathing. Additionally, she tries to
prevent her baby girl from falling off things, feels slightly self-conscious about her
belly, and cultivates a highly literary sense of righteous indignation. She is still
looking for full-time employment.
| All rights reserved. |
| Department of Insult to Injury by Christiana Thomas Summer 2007 |
