Scam-o-rama

There I was, happily curled up on my couch with a copy of Real Simple, windows open to let the warm, fresh air into the house, enjoying my afternoon.

Then I heard a sharp knock at the door, and grudgingly got up to see who it was. I opened the door and a man thrust an ID badge in my face, and started talking about how they’re supposed to show ID, it’s company policy. He then introduced himself, said that his daughter was taken away from him by child protective services two years ago, and while he was grateful for the opportunity he had now that was helping him to work toward getting her back, he really wanted to start his own landscaping company when he got back on his feet. And that he wasn’t there for donations – you can tell if someone is honest by offering them money, if they take it you know they’re not honest and close the door, if they don’t take it, then you know they’re honest and you can trust them. He never thought people who lived like this could care about someone like him, but that’s because he’d never bothered to come out here. (Because we live in such luxury? Maybe he didn’t see the 11-year old Hyundai parked in front of the house we rent. I mean, I love my car, but it doesn’t scream “wealth”.)

He said all of this without me having the slightest clue as to why he was standing on my front porch.

Turns out he’s part of a “job training program” with a group called Omni Horizons. The more he talked about how he needed to accumulate points, and how they “recruited” people though, the less it sounded like a job training program, and the more it sounded like a company that wants warm bodies to do door-to-door sales – and that’s the only job they train you for, nothing about building marketable skills. Now, door-to-door sales is difficult, and I don’t mean to knock it, but calling it a “job training program” doesn’t exactly give the same impression. He was selling magazine subscriptions, which made me think of that scene from Office Space. I said we didn’t need any more, he said they could renew our existing subscriptions for us. Although his manner and non-stop, hard-sell dialog was making me feel like this wasn’t all above-board, I listened to him, looked at the list of magazines they sold subscriptions for, and tried to be nice. (Special K, listening to all this inside, was about to yell “WOMAN!!! GET IN HERE AND MAKE ME MY DAMN DINNER!!!” just to get me off the porch. And make himself laugh.)

I told him that I appreciated his time, but that I’d never heard of his organization and I wanted to check it out before giving away any personal information, despite his copious claims to honesty and the excellent reputation this company has for helping those who are down on their luck. He said “do you have a computer?” and I said (foolishly) “yes”. He replied “well, it’ll take you less than five minutes to go to the website I gave you and look it up to verify what I’m saying. I’ll wait.” to which I said “well, I’d like more time than that. Can you come back later?”

His easy and eager smile vanished, and he said “Later? Like when?” and I said “Um…next week?” (what with it being a Friday and me assuming that he wouldn’t work weekends) to which he glowered “oh, I see how it is”, turned on his heel and left.

I came inside, and K and I looked this place up, first the website he had given me, which gave the same schpeal he’d told me and listed him as the #1 ranked national sales person – so I guess his story is very convincing to a lot of people. Then I Googled the company and got a very different, and creepy, picture.

Kind of makes me long for the refreshing honesty that Mrs. C encountered when one such person came to her door selling something similar. She asked him what he was working toward and he said “I’m saving up for a trip to Las Vegas so I can go drink and get laid.”