One of the saddest things about capitalism is the built-in ability of people to prey on one another financially. Actually, let me amend that because it has almost nothing to do with capitalism. It's far more a function of pure human nature. The tendency for a person or group of people to exploit the bad luck of another is a pathetic reality of life. It is ever-present, but some days it's just far more in my face that I want it to be.
Take the other evening, for example. As regular readers know, I've been unemployed for about 2 months and while I'm still relatively happy about my whole situation, if someone offered me a job right about now I sure as heck would jump at it. I've had a number of phone screens and interviews, I've sent my resume out nine ways from Sunday, and I've cold called several recruiters. Between the hours of 8 AM and 7 PM we answer the phone very professionally around here. One never knows when the director of my potential new department may be on the other end of the line. Beyond that, Dave's started working and he hasn't gotten a business line installed yet, so just about anyone with money for us might be on the phone.
So when the phone rang at about six o'clock the other evening and Dave answered it in his office upstairs, I turned down the TV so nobody would hear Bill Nye the Science Guy clamoring about the stunning success of invertebrates. After a moment, Dave called for me and told me that Eva Huber was on the line. His tone immediately informed me that she was someone with a job, possibly a job I could have if I played my cards right.
This is always a tough moment for me. I'm naturally excited when a recruiter or hiring manager is on the line because for a sliver of time - however brief - a door opens. Someone has seen that piece of paper I call my resume and has identified something in it that they could need or might want or that they simply like. They've picked up the phone to find out more about me because of that paper. And in the seconds between dialing my number and the moment I get on the line, I might still be exactly who and what they want. Once we start talking, of course, things start to change, but until then there's still possibility.
When I hear that there's someone with a job on the phone, I'm both thrilled and very nervous, because if I've learned anything in over 10 years of professional life it's that I cannot and will not be something I'm not. Which means that the person on the other end of the phone has one idea of who I am and what I can do, but when I myself get on the line, the possibilities suddenly become much more human sized. And when possibility is on the line but I'm not yet I too can hope that this job is perfect. That short space of time, pregnant with possibility, is going to disappear the moment I say hello - when we get to the real nitty gritty of trying to understand each other.
Beyond all this philosophy, there is something very practical about the nerves that spring up when this situation arises. Whatever else anyone might tell you, the main purpose of these phone screens is to sell yourself. To get your foot in the door and get the face to face interview. And the fact of the matter is that even at my best I never feel fully equipped to sell myself, but how much less so when I've just settled into a 4 episode orgy of Bill Nye with a vodka and lemonade, wearing a tee shirt stained with the remains of a bread baking experiment gone awry, and a sneaking suspicion that I should forego the Science Guy in favor of a shower?
But bravery is acting in spite of mildly greasy hair, not in the absence of it, so I took a deep breath, tried to clear my mind of any doubts, and picked up the extension.
Eva greeted me with the fresh, hopeful voice of someone who might be able to get a commission if I was the right person for the job. I recognized that tone and I attempted to match it because if she could sound chirpy after working all day, I should be able to sound good after a hard day ripping mp3 tracks onto my computer. She gave me her name again, asked how my evening was going, praised the fact that my evening was going well, and then got to the point.
"Are you still looking for opportunities?" she inquired. 'Opportunities' is a code word for 'someone who will pay you', and needless to say, I'm looking for that.
"I am," I confirmed, knowing that if I could I would pinch myself for my own smarmy voice.
"Oh good!" she chirped with enthusiasm, "Well, my company is looking for people at all levels, from sales to management to vice-presidents!"
I don't know what got into me at that moment, but the mention of vice-presidents made me shiver and I laughingly replied, "Well, I'm certainly not vice-president material!" I know you don't joke at times like this. I know the rules. But there was something disingenuous about her mentioning the vaulted possibilities at her company and I suddenly felt reckless.
She sounded a bit surprised but quickly recovered and questioned my statement. "Oh, who knows!? You might be perfect vice-presidency material! You don't know unless you try!"
I was immediately penitent. As I say, I know better than to joke or be self-deprecating with recruiters. You have to sell yourself, not convince them you couldn't make a hot dog on a bet! "Well, of course that may be in my future," I tried to recover, "But for right now I'm really looking for a management position."
"Perfect!" she fairly crowed and got right back to script, "My company is called Primerica - have you heard of us?"
Indeed I had, I assured her, with a sinking heart. Indeed I had.
"Oh wonderful! What do you know about us?"
Well. Here's what I know about Primerica. This is a company that has called me about a dozen times over the last six or seven years, leaving very urgent messages on my answering machine. Each and every time I begin a job search, in fact, I have been contacted by Primerica.
"You have?" she asked, her voice breaking just slightly. I assured her that I had. She asked who had been calling me and I explained that, as I always deleted the messages without calling back, I didn't keep detailed records of the names.
"Well... do you know what we do?" she asked. Why no. I didn't know, I replied curiously. Please tell me.
According to Eva, Primerica is a financial services company, and part of Citigroup Corp. That's all she told me about the company, what is it and what it does. No other information and nothing whatsoever about a particular position. Was I interested?
"Can I ask where you got my contact information?" I inquired pleasantly.
"We work strictly on a referral basis," she said with pride.
"Great! Then can you tell me who referred me to you? And to the dozen other folks who have called me over the years?" I asked patiently.
"I'd... well... I'd have to do some research into that. People shouldn't be calling you like that."
"So... do you know what I do?" I decided to change the subject. "I'm in high tech. I don't know anything about financial services."
There was a pause. "Would you be interested in making a change? Would you be open to that?"
"If the opportunity was right," I answered, "I could be interested."
Relief flooded her voice, "Wonderful! Well, what I think we should do is to have you come in to see us. You're in Fremont, right? We have an office in Fremont, just off of Cherry..."
"Wait, wait. Hold on a second," I interrupted. "You haven't asked me a thing about myself. You don't know what I do. I don't know what sort of position you have an opening for, but you want me to come in for an interview? Do you actually have my resume?"
"What this is," she began, back on script, "is that we'll have you come in for an hour or so. There'll be a short presentation and then you'll have a one on one interview after that..."
Folks, I guess you've all figured out by now that this was a scam. The short presentation is a sales pitch for Primerica and the one on one interview is a strong-arm attempt to get you to become one of their representatives. Primerica is nothing more than a pyramid scheme, even couched as it is within Citigroup and the "financial services" mantle.
I'd had just about enough. "Honestly Eva, I don't think I'm interested," I said regretfully.
Her voice turned cold. "I guess I'm surprised that you would just let this opportunity go without coming in to talk to us. You are looking for a new opportunity, aren't you?"
"Eva," I said, my patience now at an end, "I'm surprised you would call me and offer me an opportunity without having seen my resume or knowing what I do. You can't even tell me how you got my contact information."
I knew, of course. I've posted my resume on local on-line bulletin boards - and I actually have a legitimate interview tomorrow that came out of one of those boards. Primerica reps scan those boards and then call any phone number on them to talk to folks who have been laid off and need a job. They jump on people who need work, some of them in far more desperate straights than I.
"I told you, we work on a referral basis. And I'm going to do some research to find out who referred you to us so you won't be bothered again," she said in a huff.
"That'd be nice," I said, not believing it. If I re-post my resume I guarantee you they'll be on the phone again. "OK, well, you have a good night. Thanks for calling. Don't do it again."
And the call ended there. Dave came downstairs looking bewildered. "Primerica," was all I had to say.
"Oh! Geez, I wondered what was up. I've never heard you be belligerent to a recruiter!"
Which is correct. I never would be hostile to an actual recruiter because... well, why on earth would I be? A recruiter is looking for a symbiotic relationship - if I get the job, they get a commission. It works out well for both of us. So I'm open and receptive to recruiters. REAL recruiters.
That's what these Primerica reps bank on. They look for people who are out of work or looking to make a change, position themselves as people who can help you begin a new and fantastic career filled with wealth and power (one of their mottos is "We're in the business of changing lives." Puh-leeze), and then they've got you. You go in to listen to their song and dance, and for only $199 they'll sell you a kit to get started! When all is said and done, you're out $199, and all your friends and family hate you because you tried to subject them to the song and dance. The sad thing is that in this day and age, with so many people laid off and the economy looking more dismal every day, it's an ideal time for these assholes to come out of the woodwork.
So this is my warning to any of you, my faithful readers. Don't be taken in by anyone from Primerica. They're very good at what they do. They sound legitimate. But if someone doesn't know what you do, won't tell you anything specific about the job they may be offering, and doesn't have your resume (and doesn't ask for it) - please, do yourself a favor and hang up.
Your pocketbook will thank you.
- KNP April 6, 2003
Don't believe me? Check out these links:
Ken Young - PrimericaBuster
