It happened just like this. About a week ago this fellow calls me and says he found my website – I don’t think it was this one – and said that he liked my work and that he wanted to conference me with his boss and that he wanted to get me work. Near the end of the call, the chap on the phone asked about some of my design work and my skill set. I was caught off guard of course. But I asked a few questions. Enough questions to know that something was odd about it and enough questions not to get too excited. The conference call was set up for yesterday.

Hmm? I was left with the impression that they were farming out design work and that they might hire me to do design work sort of freelance style. I was also left with the impression that they were going to interview me although they avoided that word. I also had the firm impression that something was terribly wrong. So I was not, as I said, terribly excited.

It has happened before that when I am expecting a telephone interview I will actually put on a suit. I read that in someone’s literature. Now typically I hate that sort of advice but I do it because it takes me out of my regular routine. I do it because it makes me feel like a worker. I think it works. But, as it happens, I was so not excited about this conference call that I stuck with my trackpants and sleeveless wife-beater.

The phone call came 10 minutes later than expected. I had a coffee and a cigarette on the go, nevertheless. Ellen was telling jokes on mute. The first chap, let’s call him Mr. MonkeySmarm, comes on. “Hey Silas. I’ve got Gus on the phone.” We will call him Gus.

Gus was very serious. Much too serious for his name, which, yes, was not Gus but was equally ludicrous. He played for my edification a little audio tape that extolled the company philosophy. It was a barter culture, a barter business, and a barter community. This is what I get, I guess. I have always said that a barter culture makes more sense. The first part of the phone call – it wasn’t an interview, it was a pitch – explained what BarterCo (not their real name) could do for me. They would spread the evangelical word. They would get me out there. They would get me seen. They would drop me into the middle of their barter business and sell me. What’s more, they would double, triple my business. They would grow my bottom line. That’s would they would do for me. I could tell Gus was used to telling this in his own time but still I had to interrupt after a little while. It seems like MonkeySmarm was along for the ride only to laugh when he thought I deserved a laugh. Gus was not given to laughing. Otherwise MonkeySmarm did little else. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing while he was listening to us. Playing Tetris? Picking something out of his belly button? Surfing fetishist sites?

When I interrupted Gus, I asked him this: And what do I do for BarterCo? Gus avoided the question by explaining to me how revolutionary the barter business was. And, because I had already realized by now that all of this was pointless, I said exactly what I wanted to say – I usually think the things I want to say, sometimes flagellate myself for hours afterward with all the clever things I should have liked to have said, but never, or hardly ever say them, but this time, yes, I said them, and it was ripping good fun – I said, “Well, if striking two stones together to make fire is revolutionary.” Mr. MonkeySmarm guffawed where he thought we needed a guffaw. My second choice was, “If wiping your ass with leaves is revolutionary” but I thought that was too harsh.

Gus pushed on through his speech about the revolution of Barter business. He explained it thusly. Companies have Visa, Mastercard, Cash, Debit. The BarterCo currency is just another currency, just another option you can give your clients.

“Very good,” I said. “I presume my assets and liabilities are tracked. How do I spend my Barter Bucks? I presume I have to spend it within the BarterCo community.” Yes. I had to spend it within their Smurf-like BarterCo culture. “I presume,” I continued, “I don’t get to know what that community consists of?” No. No, I don’t. But there are 1200 companies in the community, he assured me. For only $1000, I could join that happy community. Of course they would also take 5% commission on my work.

He asked me about my business model. He asked me where I saw myself in 4 years. Funny, it used to be 5 years. And I said it. I have always wanted to say it and I swear I said it: “I don’t know my future after this weekend.”

Mr. MonkeySmarm, perhaps downloading video footage of Paris Hilton, suffered another unnatural guffaw. I’m convinced he didn’t know it was Bjork. “But,” Gus finally rejoined, “You do want to be more successful, don’t you?” I was tempted to go with sarcasm. I was getting Gus off his game. It disconcerted Gus more for me to say nothing. After a long time of saying nothing, Gus said, “Well BarterCo will give you the contacts you need and the exposure you need to get business.”

“So I can get paid in Barter Bucks?” Gus: “Yes. In BarterCo currency.” “Which you won’t tell me where I can spend?” Gus: “Well, of course we will, otherwise how would you know where to spend it?” Me: “After I pay my $1000 membership fee?” “That’s right.”

“So let me get this straight? I give you one thousand dollars and you sign me up. At which time you may or may not get me work? But if I do get work I can spend my Barter Bu…my BarterCo currency within your community which I won’t know what it is until I give you my $1000?”

Gus ponders and thinks. I imagine him taking a sip of Perrier or dabbing his forehead. Mr. MonkeySmarm has not guffawed in the longest time. “Well, on special occasions we can sign up maximum potential new members on a trial basis.”

Me: “Oh, very good. And how does that work?” Gus: “We will cover half of your membership fee so you can join with only an outlay of $500. Of course, to cover our interest, we will have to take a 10% commission on your work until you have paid the remainder.”

It’s been clear for a while that everybody is wasting everybody’s time but I’m having so much fun by now. An idea hits me: “What do you do with the commission once you take it?” Gus: “How do you mean?” Me: “I mean, once you have my commission where does that currency go?” Gus: “It goes to our bottom line.” Me: “You mean it’s liquidated to cash, yes?” Gus: “Yes.”

He pretended not to catch my drift. Where had Mr. MonkeySmarm gone? “Why should a company with a revolutionary new business model, one built on a philosophy of barter, demand cash to become a member? That seems rather against your principal philosophy, doesn’t it?” Gus is quiet again. Maybe he’s thinking of hanging up on me.

“Well, like any other traditional business, we need to make money.” Me: “But your members, your community, does not make money?” Another pause.

“Perhaps, Silas, you are not such a good fit for BarterCo,” he suggests, trying to sound assertive. “We thank you for your time.”

Me: “No, not at all.” With a big smile on my face that I hoped they could hear: “It was really my pleasure.”

After they disconnected, even while I was amused, I couldn’t help but wonder: How does this sort of thing keep happening to me? I know all sorts of people that never suffer this sort of thing. I attract it. Why, if you picked 1000 people randomly, I’m sure I’d be like one of three or four people that ever comes across this sort of thing. And I come across this sort of thing often. Really often. Why does this sort of thing keep happening to me? I must put out a certain wonky vibe, a skewed desperate gravity that draws this to me. It’s really all rather cruel. But still, I’m mostly amused. And so long as I can suffer all the little cruel indignities with a laugh, I’ll be alright.

SS