My Time in Network Marketing

By Maria Bligh

‘There’s nowt so queer as folk’ is an old Northern England saying that I’ve heard many times in my life without really paying it much mind. But after a spell in a network marketing business, I became intimately acquainted with its veracity. 

I joined the company because I liked their effective and environmentally-friendly products and wanted to buy then at discount. Then I discovered that there was also a business opportunity. Well, I thought, who can’t use some extra cash… and then I answered myself: ‘not me!’ That is to say I most certainly could use some extra cash (one of those forbidden double negatives, you see). And so began an eventful year during which I was trained in: how to run a business; how to give presentations; how to sell; and how to manage folk (each to a greater or lesser degree). But the most profound learning related to the vagaries of my fellow earth dwellers.

I enjoy chatting to people with diverse backgrounds, so this was a big attraction. My sponsor (gosh, sounds like AA) encouraged me to start attending diverse public events to meet new people I might not ordinarily mix with, so I signed up for a few gatherings that appeared interesting and outside my regular circle. 

The first event I went to was for individuals who wanted to develop mediumship skills. Well, I thought, I already talk to everyone around me. It seemed churlish to exclude people just because they were dead. So along I bounced, arriving a little late but not phoning ahead. after all, any psychic worth their salt would already know I was running behind schedule. Entering the room I encountered a mixed bunch of acolytes arranged in a perfect circle on seats that must have been borrowed from a museum of ancient torture methods. All the better to prevent one dropping off during meditation, I assumed. However, the seats were so narrow that it was already taking one larger lady all her time to avoid dropping off. I parked myself in the remaining empty seat and was immediately reminded why I’m not keen on thongs!

Proceedings proceeded with a ‘candle meditation’

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After what seemed like an eternity, during which I wondered whether it would be acceptable to swap the music of the pan pipes with one of my sales training CDs (well, time is precious) the class leader smiled serenely and said ‘We’ll now go round the room to see where you’ve all been.’ It transpired that she meant astrally. ‘I met all my dead relative in a field of poppies,’ said thong woman (I considered interjecting with a recommendation for my company’s hay fever solution). Everyone else appeared to have enjoyed similarly ethereal travels so I felt a little shallow admitting I’d been pushing a trolley round Tesco, mentally compiling my shopping list. Added to this was the shame of only having reached the cheeses when she ended the exercise. 

It wasn’t really my scene and even though it meant forgoing a potential networking opportunity I didn’t think anyone from the other side (I mean the spirit world, not West Sussex) was likely to join my business. Even though we’re told not to write off anyone, I felt sure ‘ability to fog a mirror’ was a qualifying factor in any new recruit.

They say you always remember your first, and I certainly do. She was a lady who decided to buy my products despite input from her 5-year-old. It’s not easy giving a presentation when there are young children in the room. Actors say ‘never work with children or animals’ (Clint Eastwood clearly didn’t get the memo – Clyde totally stole the show in Every Which Way but Loose), but sometimes it just can’t be helped. During a demonstration of one of our face creams, the little girl looked up from the picture she was colouring-in (using my best eye pencils, but at least they were keeping her quiet) and sweetly lisped ‘Does that cream make you beautiful?’ When I smiled indulgently and confirmed that it did, she turned to her mother and said ‘It doesn’t work very well, does it Mummy?’

Let’s face it, even those of us with the best sense of humour sometimes find it hard to laugh at ALL setbacks. It’s only when the pain of humiliation fades that we see the funny side. I’m told it’s a bit like the agony of childbirth – but only a bit. Personally, I’ve always found cats easier, although I’ve never given birth to one of those, either. Saying this, last Monday my big moggie decided to channel Edmund Hillary, resulting in the downfall of a shelf that housed my laptop. It survived but the impact caused the M and the P to pop off its keyboard. I’m still waiting for a reply to my letter to ‘arks & S’encer’ about their disappointing ‘adras Curry with ‘ilau Rice.’

All was not lost though as I caught one of the other cats playing with the M a couple of days later and managed to retrieve it before it disappeared under a cupboard (the M, not the cat). Also, I’ve managed to improvise and replace the P with half a piece of well-chewed gum. I’m particularly proud of this because I used an old Smarties lid to impress the indentation of a P onto it before it hardened.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the subject of humiliation. I wanted to tell you about the breakfast incident (that shall hereafter be referred to as ‘the breakfast incident’).

Let me begin with a little background. I joined a business breakfast club to expand my contacts. We meet every Wednesday morning at 6.45am (yes, I was also surprised to find there was a 6.45 in the morning as well as the evening). About 30 businesspeople attend and the tables are in a rectangular horseshoe layout so those of us sitting at the side tables are facing those at the table opposite (yes, it’s relevant).

The dark, winter mornings aren’t conducive to good grooming and you know how sometimes you just seem to get your knickers in a twist? Well, I’m not talking figuratively here. I don’t know how it happened but the elastic was digging right into the top of my thigh and I realised if I didn’t do something I could be in for a nasty case of DVT. Anyway, looking at the tables opposite I observed that they were skirted – that’s a technical term for having a cloth around them so you can’t see who’s playing footsie under the table. This meant I could discreetly fix my problem by deftly reaching up my skirt and untwisting my M&Ss where they’d bunched up in my tights. I set my face into a gentle smile and did the deed. Much relieved, I was able to enjoy the rest of the event secure in the knowledge that nobody had noticed and that my leg was no longer turning blue.

It was only when we were leaving that, to my horror, I noticed the table I’d been seated behind hadn’t been finished off properly and the only skirt seen by those seated opposite was the one I’d had my hand up. A few member of the group have been noticeably friendlier toward me ever since.

My best friend, Mags lives in Inverness. Being my best friend, she was obviously roped in to support me in my new venture. I was desperate to sign people up as quickly as possible in those early days because I was on a fast track to be among November’s top recruiters, thus securing a place on a planned training weekend in Margate (all expenses paid). I wasn’t too bothered about the training but my bus pass works on the Loop that goes to Broadstairs where there’s a really nice, quirky, pub called The Magnet on Albion Street (not far from the ironmongers that was the inspiration for the Two Ronnies four candles sketch).

Sorry, digressing again.

By this time, I’d really hit it off with my upline sponsor, Sally. She’s one of these people who says yes before you’ve even agreed the terms. (She’d have made a terrible prostitute). In network marketing it pays to be mega-positive. That’s how we wound up quaffing wine one Saturday on a Gatwick to Inverness flight with a meeting room booked for the following day to conduct a recruitment event to launch my Highlands branch.

The flight was delayed for a couple of hours but we were placated with a free drink and the captain extended an invitation to anyone who fancied visiting the cockpit. Once there, after oohing and aahing about the size of his instrument panel, I asked whether we could take photos: ‘As long as I’m in them’ came the reply. So I tried to squeezed close to him to take a selfie but he kept moving away. Then Sally, who doesn’t share my tinnitus problem, told me he’d said we could take photos as long as he wasN’T in them. He must have thought it odd that I was chasing him around his tiny cubicle like a scene from Benny Hill! We laughed about that one for the rest of the trip (‘we’ doesn’t include the captain).

Sally, Mags and I enjoyed a fun Saturday night during which the cockpit incident (that shall hereafter be referred to as ‘the cockpit incident’) was told, retold and embellished to the extent that, had it been an egg, it would have become a Fabergé.

Next morning we arrived at the venue (someone was operating a pile-driver in my head) at the crack of dawn – well, 9am (see my earlier remark about 6.45am) to set out the chairs. Mags told us about 50 people had said they’d try to attend, so we’d booked the larger room and had enough tea, coffee and bix ordered to be served as soon as the presentation part was over. The idea was that we’d sign up all the people who wanted to join while we swigged tea and dunked biccies.

And then we waited for show time…

And then show time arrived and we waited some more…

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And then we packed up, settled the bill for the tea, coffee and comestibles we hadn’t comested and went back to Mags’ place to lick our wounds and make some accusatory phone calls.

Now understand, Sally and I had flown 500 miles to hold an event and these are some of the responses we got from people who lived in spewing distance of the venue:

Oops, I forgot (always a good standby)

I had an awfy late nacht last nacht

My car wouldnae start

Ah woke up sick (an old favourite)

I had to drive my wee girl to swimming because she hurt her foot and couldnae walk

I widae bin late and I didnae want to walk in after the start

I was comin’ wii ma freen who was drivin’ but she cried off at the last minute

But the best(?) one was vandals stole ma garden gate last nacht so I had tae gin oot looking for it this mornin’. If I’d had a goldfish in a plastic bag, this would have won it. Actually, no, that’s cruel, they don’t offer those at the fair any more. Quite right, too. Sadly, it gave the Chinese the idea of suspending tiny creatures (turtles and fish) in small plastic capsules to make key rings. I wonder how many disgruntled purchasers return their keyrings because the creature expire. Cruel nutters!

Mags whined ‘But they all promised to try and come.’ The problem was she’d taken the ‘I’ll TRY’ responses to be written in blood on stone tablet guarantees of attendance. The moral of this story was summed up by Yoda: Do or do not, there is no try. Such a perceptive dude.

The ups and downs of network marketing are like riding a hot air balloon powered by a fire-breathing dragon with a nasty cough and after the disappointment of the Highlands incident (that shall hereafter be referred to as ‘the Highlands incident’) I recruited an exceptionally keen lady who swore this was the opportunity she’d been born for. 

Now my own philosophy, and one which is prevalent in network marketing, is that even if you’ve joined mainly to start a business, you first need to become your own customer by buying the products. The thinking is that you can’t recommend something to others if you don’t use it yourself. Some of my colleagues are non-negotiable on this, even going through a new recruit’s possessions to see what they can sell to raise funds. Rumour has it that one woman was coerced into listing her Siamese cat and hamster on eBay before management reeled in the aggressive sponsor. I’m not sure how much the hamster would have raised but the Siamese would probably have financed her starter pack. Although it was quite elderly. Anyway, I’m a bit of a pushover and my new lady pleaded poverty when it came to placing her first order. She was so convincing that I took my own tea bag and soupçon of milk when I went to conduct her initial training.

While she scuttered off to prepare our drinks I made myself comfy on the couch beside an enormous green teddy bear which I hadn’t noticed the week before. When I mentioned him (or her – who can tell?) she enthused about the new shop that had just opened in town which was, apparently, full of bears and other equally essential paraphernalia. ‘He’s lovely, isn’t he?’ (so he was male) she gushed, ‘and he only cost £100.’ 

I’m not often speechless…

It’s a nice tradition to reward your downline distributors when they achieve milestones so I pulled into a filling station en route to meet one such lady, intending to pick up a bunch of flowers for her. And, I’ll admit, to give myself an energy boost in the form of a Yorkie bar (biscuit and raisin). I chose a bunch of pink carnations from the forecourt and was puzzled by the daggers aimed my way as I queued up to pay. Well how was I to know the flowers were part of a tribute to a bloke who’d suffered a heart attack there the day before? Although I did think it an odd way to display the bouquets. I reckon the poor chap died of shock after clocking the prices – £2.79 for a Yorkie bar (biscuit and raisin)!

Summing up, from my time in network marketing I learnt that people don’t always mean what they say but can be extremely inventive (the Highlands incident), that I shouldn’t make assumptions (the breakfast incident) and that I should listen more closely (the cockpit incident). But the main thing I took away from it was the veracity of the saying ‘there’s nowt so queer as folk.

Contact Maria at:  mariabligh@gmail.com