There was a period this summer when I was able to say "I sell knives."  Just being able to say that phrase when asked what I was doing for money over break made it worth the one month stint, if only for the reactions of others.  "You see knives!?" was usually the response I'd get.  "Yes," I'd say, casually.  "They're in the back of my car."  And they were.  I'd keep my sample set of Cutco knives stashed away in a pleather tote in my back seat. 

I'm not really sure how I got myself into this.  Basically, I was desperate for a job and happened to get a letter in the mail.  It was for a marketing corporation for college kids, and I figured I could use some office experience.  Flexible hours and a high pay was the clincher.   So, lo and behold, I called to set up an interview.  Now, they didn't give me much information.  Nowhere in this phone call was there the mention of knives, or selling anything for that matter.  They assured me there would be no telemarketing or door to door sales.  They told me I should dress professionally.  When I got to the sketchy building, and went up through the back door, the sound of techno music was blaring.  That should have been my first sign.  When you go into a job interview that sounds like a rave, it's most definitely a red flag.  Anyway, there were tons of others there waiting in their pressed suits and high heals.  A few, I learned, even went to Binghamton. 

After a brief interview and another 90 minute group interview, I was hired.  I was told it was exclusive and I should be proud of myself.  I wasn't particularly thrilled, but hey, it was a job.  When I told my Dad, he immediately cried scam.  When I told my mom, she said she actually had some Cutco knives that were wonderful.  She may have gotten them from my cousin years ago.  Well my cousins making a nice living for himself these days, so I figured to stick with it. 

I had to take a three day training course, and put down a $143 refundable deposit for a knife set.  To be fair, even though I didn't get paid for the training, I did actually learn a lot.  For the first few weeks, I was doing great.  I was selling knives by the set, I was making a ton of cash for working maybe 5 hours a week.  It was all on my own time, with the exception of two weekly mandatory meetings, and even those were kind of fun.  My boss was only 22, and we would dress up and just get "fired up." 

I made some friends, others like myself.  It wasn't until we all started secretly talking to each other that we realized we were all thinking the same thing in the back of our minds: cult. 

We had to call in every morning between nine and ten.   It seemed fair at first, but when they would shriek into the phone as I was still in bed, telling me I have to get up and start calling people and make five appointments that day, I got skeptical.  I'm sorry, but I'm not calling people before ten; it's just rude, though they would encourage us to call after 7 AM.  Oh, and we were only allowed to call people who we knew or recommendations from people we knew.  So, they were already just doing us a pity favor by seeing us.  The good part, however, we got $18.25, just by meeting with people. 

It got creepy when they started calling my house everyday trying to "fire up" my mom.  Telling her I've got to come to this meeting; "it's going to be AWESOME!"  They would scream into the phone, when my mother would pick up at 8 AM or maybe 10 PM (I have a four year old brother who sleeps, by the way.)  "YO, WHAT UP?!"  Yes, to my mother.  They'd change the times of meetings.  They started to tell us we had to go to these conferences in Queens, and call people at ridiculous hours.  They'd make up times and say we had no choice and had to be there (We weren't getting paid for these "meetings.") 

They would pick out the weak kids.  Those who were too nice to say no, and would have them doing free work for them all hours of the week.  One kid I worked with, even told me they called him while he was in the hospital and told him he had to find a way to get into the office that day.  He was "slacking off lately." 

After you burned through your initial list of family and friends, and whatever small number of recommendations you got (people are weird about giving out their friends' numbers.  Understandably so) you basically were done.  What more could you do?  I tried to quit a few times.  I explained to my boss that I don't have anyone left to call.  "Go through your yearbook," he would say.  Yeah, okay.  I haven't kept in touch with half the kids I graduated with, who am I to call them now?  What do I say?  "Hey, sorry I didn't call when your dad died, but wanna buy a $1000 set knives?"

"The beautiful thing," my boss so dreamily assured me, "is that you never have to quit."  I tried three more times to quit, before I finally left a message telling them not to call me anymore.  Around this time, I also discovered tons of hate groups on Facebook devoted to Vector Marketing, the period scheme/creepy cult. 

I suppose, in the end, I benefited.  Aside from the emotional trauma I suffered by the attempted brainwash, I did make money.  I did greatly improve my sales skills.  In any job, really, your selling something, right?.  I learned some great psychological tricks and phone skills, so now I can convince anybody of anything.  I was able to stand up for myself in a "corporate"  situation.  I guess these are all skills I'll take with me some day.