Why I Let Myself Get Scammed by a Former Heroin Dealer
He heard the dogs and instinctively turned to run.
His name was Marcus, a young man of about twenty with tattoos blotting out the brown skin of his face, neck, and hands.
He was wearing an ill-fitting white oxford button down with a generic tie. His pants were baggy, not on purpose but more like he’d borrowed them at the last minute from a friend or relative.
Underneath his dingy dress shirt was a thrown together booklet of paper, which I assumed contained the details of a scam, for fundraising, selling candy, or as it turned out magazines.
He launched into his pitch. “I could give you my pitch about what I’m doing here, which would sound like a lot of yadda yadda yadda, but what I want to tell you about is my journey.”
Marcus’ story of limited options and second and third chances
Marcus grew up in poverty in Cincinnati, Ohio. When he was 16, he got caught selling heroin and ended up in a juvenile correction facility.
He felt lucky that he didn’t go to prison, even so, not two weeks after being released from a year-long stint in juvie, Marcus was back to dealing.
Nine months later, he fathered his first kid, a boy. He watched his friends get killed or locked up, but kept going. He reflected that he knew he should be doing something else, but his opportunities were slim, and he didn’t see any alternatives.
Right before he got caught again, he fathered his second child, a girl. This time, he went to prison. Marcus got lucky, again, and received a relatively short sentence.
With good behavior, he was out in a few years, but he knew he wouldn’t catch another break.
Marcus’ third chance, working for a company that promises a fresh start
So here he was. Desperate for a third chance, this time legitimate, hungry to make it work and make sure his kids had a better life than he did.
A friend connected Marcus to UD Management Group, LLC, a direct magazine sales organization that exists, “… for the purpose of teaching people, who are highly motivated, but lacking resources and direction to achieve their goals.”
He thought this was his chance.
Ten minutes in, the pitch
Marcus handed me the packet he’d been patiently holding under his arm. The pages were full of magazines with point values next to them, no dollar amounts, only points.
He explained how it worked and what the points meant. They promised him that once he sold enough subscriptions, he could start a mini-franchise and branch out on his own.
Marcus planned to sell magazine subscriptions for only as long as he had to, then he wanted to open a convenience store back in Cincinnati.
I looked at him and cracked a smile, “You know this whole thing is a scam, right?” He looked back, undeterred, “I know that some people haven’t gotten their magazines in the past, that there are dishonest sellers who do this and give everyone else a bad name, and I know that this is not the end game for me.”
“But a scam? Nah man, this isn’t a scam.” For his part, he seemed to believe it. Either that or he was a convincing liar.
What I knew about magazine scams
I’d seen exposés on shows like 20/20 and read articles about door-to-door sales schemes, some on magazine companies in particular.
All highlighted fraudulent practices, of items, never showing up, of credit card and checking account information being used for other purchases, of some salespeople later coming back and robbing the homes they had visited.
While the majority of pieces focused on those who had been scammed by door-to-door sellers, a few articles also detailed the experiences of those who are likely the biggest victims, the kids and young people doing the selling.
Often, the sellers are young, from poor circumstances, and have few other opportunities. They’re are sold a dream, carted like cattle all over the country in vans, and put into a situation of dependence on the magazine sales organization.
Even worse, in 2007, the New York Times published an article titled, “For Youths, a Grim Tour on Magazine Crews,” that detailed beatings, coercion to use highly addictive drugs like meth, practices of leaving salespeople behind without any way to get back to their hometown, and managers making those who did not meet quotas fight each other as a method of punishment.
Weighing the options
Before Marcus tried to sell me, I already knew the setup. However, I also knew the other story, about how some of these organizations put sellers into quasi-indentured servitude.
Did Marcus know the score? Was he a convincing liar? It didn’t matter to me.
What I saw in Marcus was a young man who grew up under much less fortunate circumstances than I did, who was far away from home.
A young man with a checkered past and a felony record that would make him virtually un-hirable.
A young man who was trying to not go back to selling drugs.
A young man who gets doors slammed in his face every day.
A young man who wants better and thinks that this is how he will get there.
The irony of it all is that in his illegal drug trade at least his customers got what they thought they were buying, yet in his first ever “legitimate” role his new customers may never lay their hands on the items they purchase from him.
Knowing all this, I played out three options over and over in my mind as we continued to talk.
The options I saw were:
1. Do nothing.
a. Perhaps he doesn’t meet his quota. My door is just like any other than has been closed in his face. He’s back at square one and if he can’t find legitimate options may never achieve his goals and may have to resort to returning to crime and eventually, prison.
b. Perhaps he doesn’t meet quota, and he gets left behind, beaten, forced to fight, or faces any number of negative outcomes. The world takes another shit on Marcus. He becomes jaded- see likely outcome of point a.
2. Give him cash, but don’t buy a magazine subscription. I tell him that I want to invest in him but not the crooked organization he works for.
a. Perhaps he either doesn’t meet quota or books a portion of the cash as a sale. My cynicism tarnishes his view of his first “legitimate” opportunity, leaving him bitter but still stuck in the situation. At least he as some cash in his pocket for a meal or bus fare.
3. Buy a magazine subscription.
a. Perhaps he meets his quota; perhaps he still doesn’t. With cash in his pocket at least he can afford a meal, and maybe he feels a sense of accomplishment (in either closing a deal or duping a mark). I perpetuate the problem.
Crossroads
Most of my neighbors are nice enough people, but even then, I knew all of them would turn him away.
The question I kept going back to was, “wouldn’t that be better?”
By supporting any member of an organization such as the one Marcus represented, wouldn’t that just contribute to it’s continued existence?
Wouldn’t that just continue the cycle of fraud, against bleeding heart marks like me and those like Marcus alike?
Decision
When I told Marcus I wanted to help him out, he seemed surprised.
“Why? Why do you want to help me, man?”
“You and I grew up under different circumstances. The shit you’ve done and had to go through?… I don’t even come close to knowing what that’s like. Even now, what you’re doing isn’t easy.”
I paused.
“What I think is that the easy route for you to take was to go back to selling smack. It’s familiar, you’ve done it, you know how it works. The route you chose is more difficult. If me buying a subscription from you will help you get where you want to go, I want to help. Consider it a no-strings investment towards that shop you want to open up.”
Marcus looked at his feet. “Shit. Well… Thank you. That really means a lot. I don’t want much; I just want to make my own way and make sure my kids have it better than I did.”
I ended up giving Marcus $50 in cash for a subscription to Entrepreneur magazine.
He handled the transaction like I was signing up for a cell-phone plan, triple checking the information and explaining the details in unnecessary depth.
The deal was done. We shook hands, and then he left.
The outcome, three months later
Three months and several weeks later, I came home to find a copy of Entrepreneur stuffed in my mailbox and immediately felt like a colossal asshole for ever doubting Marcus.
What I thought I knew didn’t turn out to be true. In the end, I didn’t get scammed. But even if I had, I’d do it all over again.
The fifty dollar risk I took to invest in Marcus was equivalent to a nice dinner.
But for him? That sale could have meant meeting quota or not, continuing on a straight path or going back to a criminal one, having a small win or growing jaded, or just having a good day or a bad one.
While I’ll never know what it truly meant, if anything, what I do know is this: Potentially getting scammed by a former heroin dealer was the most uplifting thing I did all week.
