Rainbow Connection

My non-professional job experiences aren't just limited to discount grocery. For a short time of my life, I took up the most exotic, chic title known to mankind. That's right, I was a door to door salesman.

Your mom or grandmother (depending on the reader's demographic) may have heard of the contraption I was employed to distribute. Let us hop into the Way Back machine, and bask in the events that lead up to this adventure.

The job market is a lot like a dismemberment competition. The more you prepare for it, the less chance you'll have of success. Using this analogy, college is much like lopping your head off. I had struggled for nearly a year searching for a local job that wasn't in the dog food industry. I received a BA in Fine Art, specifically, computer art, and tried to roll with it. Unfortunately, nobody wanted to hire someone with a background that consisted of education. During many interviews, I was told I was overqualified, and rejected. Now one might think that a Bachelor's degree isn't that big of a deal, but in my backwater hometown, it's a sure sign of witchcraft.

At last I found a listing for an undisclosed job offering a highly disclosed amount of money per week. I jumped the proverbial shark to check it out, and was hired without an interview. Instead, the sales pitch was cast upon the half-dozen new recruits, and the brain washing began.

The Rainbow Clean-Air Cleaning System.
Basically, that's a pretty way to say over-glorified vacuum.
(Image courtesy of http://www.thevacuumcenter.com)

We were impressed. Of course we were impressed. Six sweaty guys in suits in the middle of summer in a tiny room in a small brick office will be impressed when presented something that removes odors from the air. After a couple days of intense training on the features of the Rainbow and it's ability to suck dirt, we were destined to enter the world of doorstep marketing. I gathered my first set of leads; neighbors, immediate family, and former teachers. With the exception of my mother, who vacuums four times a day, these leads were only allowing me into the house as a gesture of assisting me on my long road of salesmanship. Let's face it; nobody wants to pay for a $2,000 vacuum, with the exception of my mom. Nobody needs the Rainbow's patented separator device, which is essentially a grooved spinning thing found in most Lego Technic sets.

This is basically what spins the water,
keeping the dirt from coming back out of the Rainbow. Fascinating, no?
(Image courtesy of http://www.active-robots.com)

Beyond the overpriced hunk of reinforced carbon fiber, the sketchy and over-rehearsed sales pitch, and the way we gathered new leads by knocking on doors and signing people up for fake contests, the job was highly profitable. At least, that was what we were told. District meetings where someone with a fancy smart phone would brag about how wealthy he is captivated even the most unsuccessful Rainbow Sales Drone. Evidently, enough Rainbow Cleaners have been sold to make several people multi-millionaires. I even bought the idea myself. There were days where I came home with a thousand bucks stashed in my pants, but most of the time, my gain was less than zero. In that industry, you make nothing unless you sell. The eighty mile round trip to the office certainly wasn't rational on my behalf. I suppose I took some joy in knowing I couldn't get fired from such a job. Going home at night knowing you just put a family of Mennonites in severe debt is an extraordinary feeling altogether.