Chapter Twelve - Manifestation and Lemon-Lime Torture

CHAPTER TWELVE

Manifestation and Lemon-Lime Torture

THURSDAY.
OH, THURSDAY.

I woke up exhausted. My body was barely functioning, but we had to be at the morning meeting. And today’s meeting was special. Because today, I get to tell you about one of the weirdest parts of this whole operation.

Manifestation Time.

That’s what I called it. I don’t know what else you’re supposed to call it. It was the part of the meeting where you were expected to either text your family… or pray to God for sales.

That’s not a joke.

You had a few minutes to spiritually align with the universe in hopes that strangers would let you persuade them at the door. And this wasn’t out of character for the company, religion popped up in training before. I remember that Tyler once said something like (half-joking, but maybe not) that he hoped God wasn’t on the call, or else he was in trouble. And in the same breath, he claimed God was on his side because he was ethical. Whatever that means.

Anyway.

After manifestation time, we moved on to The Board. That’s where they tracked everyone’s sales. A big dry erase board with all our names and our numbers. It was a ritual. One of the guys, Laz, would go name by name.

“Zack? One! He’s!…”
“…On the board!”

But if you didn’t make a sale?

“Womp womp.”

Yeah. I got a womp womp.
Most of us young guys did.

I think Zack got one. Chris might’ve gotten a couple, which, by the way, I helped him a ton in the preseason. He learned a lot of the psychology from me. He studied my sales framework. I’m just saying.

Then came the “training.”
You know how people say no means no?

Yeah, we were taught the opposite.
No doesn’t exist. It’s not real.
“Not interested,” “can’t afford it,” “I’m busy,” “please leave,” all just lame excuses. According to them, none of it counts. The rule was: No one ever says no. They just haven’t been flipped yet.

So that was the vibe heading into the field.

I got dropped off in my neighborhood. It was lightly raining, but nothing crazy. Luckily there was a spare jacket I got to use. Honestly, I was feeling okay. Better than most days. I even had some decent conversations.

But the neighborhood sucked.

Tons of no soliciting signs. Doors slammed. People didn’t even answer. I was knocking like crazy and getting nothing. And remember, I still hadn’t eaten a real meal. Last night’s dinner was a half block of cheese and chocolate milk.

So around midday, I found a nearby grocery store just to use the bathroom. I don’t remember the name, but I remember the relief.

Hours pass. I keep knocking. It’s getting close to sundown.

I’m going down this steep hill, my hundredth door’s just around the corner, and suddenly...

I black out.

I’m not kidding.
My legs buckled. I dropped my phone. My eyes stopped working. My body went completely numb, and for a second, I forgot where I was. Everything shut down.

I pulled myself back up and kept walking, but I felt sick. Nauseous. Dizzy. I had to crash on the sidewalk, right there in the middle of suburbia.

And that’s when this guy, an angel in dad form, pulled up in a van with his family. He saw me laying there and shouted out:

“Hey man, you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let me get you some water, brother.”

This man walks into his garage and comes back out with two ice-cold cans of Liquid Death. No joke.

And somehow, that resurrected me.
I crushed both cans right there on the sidewalk.
Best water of my life. No exaggeration.

I sat for a few more minutes, recharged, and then went back out to finish my shift.

I hit the hundred-door quota, plus some.

I was finally done.

James picked me up a little after 9:00. I got in the car with him and Aaron.

First thing they do?
Start laying into me for not getting enough stars.

See, stars are this mechanic where the company wanted you to get everyone’s personal information at the door. If you can’t get a sale, just lean in, literally, and ask for their name, phone number, and email. I wasn't super comfortable doing this when a person was clearly already uncomfortable with a random guy at their door. So I only got a few stars.

I told them I didn’t eat lunch, and instead of asking why, they just called me stupid. Over and over again. I tried to talk. They talked over me. I tried to explain. They mocked me. It was psychological warfare in a Civic.

Then we got back to the house.

Gratitude circle time.
Same nightly ritual.

Except tonight had a twist.

Apparently, Arsh had made a bet with another guy, one of the older reps. Whoever got fewer sales had to take the punishment.

Arsh lost.

You know what they did to this kid?

They waterboarded him with 7UP.

No exaggeration.
They laid him back and started pouring lemon-lime soda in his face while he screamed and laughed and choked. It was supposed to be funny.

And honestly, I laughed too.

Because what else do you do?

You just knocked on a hundred doors, passed out on the sidewalk, drank water branded like an energy drink, got verbally abused by your “mentors,” and now you’re watching a guy get medieval-tortured with soda.