Addicted to Sales

Most of you who know me, know I am all about the direct-selling business. I love buying stuff from people I know, I love selling stuff to people I know, and I adore being able to work at home in my P.J.s late at night or early in the morning, making my living without punching a time-clock.

My son Alex says that if we had a Family Crest, it would sport two mottoes: "Needs More Garlic!" and "Never Pay Retail." Whenever I see a product I love, I sign up to sell it--why not get what I want at deep discount? Why not share the joy with family & friends?

I started my first adventure in direct sales when I was 16, selling Jafra cosmetics. My best customers in college were not my peers, but the Hispanic housekeeping staff in the dorms. After they finished their shift, they would come to my dorm room en masse, sit on the floor for the afternoon, trying lipstick colors and making up each other's faces. I loved it.

In my single late twenties, I sold Avon door-to-door in my Costa Mesa neighborhood, mostly as a way to get to know my neighbors. When Bill and I were living with my parents in San Pedro and I was pregnant with Juliana, I did it again in that neighborhood, for spending money and exercise. People bought from me, maybe because they felt that anyone who was hugely pregnant and stomping around the suburbs, selling door-to-door, was desperate? True, we were pretty desperate then, but I enjoyed the walking and the personal interactions. And I even got to see inside some of those fabulous houses by the ocean.

When my kids were little, I fell in love with Discovery Toys and wanted most of them for my own children. I built up a nice little side business doing parties for moms who wanted developmental toys in bright colors for their kids. The home demonstrations were chaotic (because there were always a pack of whirling dervishes in the living room and crying babies in the kitchen), but the products virtually sold themselves, because the moms could see immediately what their kids liked right away.

Over the years, I've done direct selling for Pampered Chef, Tupperware, and of course, my enduring love, Longaberger baskets and pottery. I did it mostly because I have fun demonstrating products I believe in. And then there's that wholesale price thing.

When daughter Juli was visiting last month and said she wanted a good set of knives for a wedding present, I had her try out all the cutlery in my kitchen to see what she liked. She test-drove Lamson, Gerber (I'm glad she didn't fall in love with those, they no longer make kitchen knives, unfortunately), Victorinox, Henckels and Cutco. Being her mama's daughter, she decided she liked the Cutco best.

Now, these are the best: Made in the U.S.A. (still!) since 1949, high-carbon surgical stainless steel (Bill has had the stitches to prove it!), molded ergonomic thermo-resin handles, nickel-silver flush rivets, patented recessed Double-D serrated edges, perfectly balanced and pretty darn pricey, unless you're the type of person who thinks long-term amortization rather than buy-now, throw away next year. They also have a "forever" guarantee, which means if you own a Cutco knife or tool, it's warranted forever. And, anytime it loses its edge, Cutco will sharpen it for free. I just sent all of mine off to the factory for reconditioning this week, when I realized I've been using them for 14 years without rest.

I bought my first set when I enrolled in culinary school in 1994 and never regretted it. My parents liked them so much, they bought a set from Terry's brother when they came to visit us in NY one year. My brother and sister-in-law own them. Mark and Jo in Charlottesville got a set for a wedding present 30+ years ago, and use them everyday. Yes, it's a cult, but a nice one. When we see Cutco on each other's countertop, we know we are like-minded people.

It seemed logical when Juli made her choice, that I go online and find out if I could sign up to sell them (and save on that wedding present)! So I did that last week. I filled out an online application, got a call from the branch manager, went in for an interview, and was selected to become a rep.

Then came the training this week: Three days in Johnson City, with a dozen other trainees, all of whom were high school and college students, with no experience with direct sales at all. Talk about a fish out of water? I have 35+ years on these youngsters for one thing, and my butt doesn't sit in a metal folding chair for 6 hours without complaint! Actually, they were all very interesting, engaging people, though they did treat me as sort of a doddering grandma at times (maybe it was the knitting I brought along because I knew I would be bored)? They can't help it, these humorously arrogant youths. At times, it was even uplifting, as no one in the room guessed my real age--the oldest estimate they could come up with was 40 (ancient!), giving me a 15 year face-lift in one fell swoop! Ha! Fooled them! They really couldn't even conceive of someone being 55 and not in a home?

I tried very, very hard to behave myself for three days, and only slipped a couple of times. The manager who led the training was very enthusiastic, but a complete control freak. I think she was afraid, this being her first big responsible management job. My guess is that she is about 21 or 22, tops. She was highly disorganized, stupefyingly repetitive to the point of internal screaming frustration (mine), and inwardly terrified of not doing a "good job." Her butt is on the line, and it shows. The actual training could have been done in one painless six-hour session, if we were dealing with real-world, business-oriented adults. But the company is committed to training young students as their primary marketing force, so it was like being back in high school. And I wasn't all that compliant then, even when I was a student of that age. It was a sacrifice, and it was torture to sit there for 3 days, but I did it, and tried to enjoy what moments I could. Now I am free to sell Cutco cutlery.

Except that the manager still wants to be my mommy. She wants me to call her after every appointment, every freaking day! I rebel. I chafe. I don't even call my real mother everyday! And certainly not to be hounded, coached, cajoled, patted on the back or exhorted to do better. I know who I am. (I am so ancient and wise, after all)!

So, now that I have a contract, a reckoning will have to occur this week. Manager-mommy and I will have to have a discussion about the definition of an independent contractor versus her insane personal need to direct my every waking minute. I will be kind, but firm.

In the meantime, if you want Cutco, you now know who to call...