Brain Washed

I've been having a lot of strange dreams as of late.  Maybe it's the stress of a new job and trying to impress the higher ups that I can perform my duties the way they intend them to be or maybe it's the overall exhaustion I've been experiencing in the last few weeks.  I can't say for sure, but the dream I had in the wee hours of the morning, today, unlocked a memory that was otherwise forgotten because of the TBI that I had a few years ago.

Many many years ago, and we're talking decades, now, I had a job with a local company called GM Marketing.  It's a company that is long since gone and, probably, for good reason.  On the surface, it was an advertising company that sold $20 discount cards for different businesses.  We did cards for Petro-Canada, Wendy's, Subway, Blockbuster Video (when that was still a thing) and even did a campaign for the Saskatchewan Roughriders.  The discount card was usually $20, $21.40 with tax and offered savings upwards of $200 to $500, if used to completion.  They were a great savings, if you were prone to eating out a lot or renting movies or taking in a ballgame or two.  "Use it just once," we say as part of our pitch, "And you'll already earn your money back."

We'd go door-to-door, ringing doorbells and pitching people our schtick.  Some would take us up on it, some wouldn't.  Some would even get violent, as opposed to simply passing on our offer. 

It was all good fun, on the surface, but looking back now, it was actually a cult or cult-like experience.  From the initial meeting for your job interview, the con was in.  They'd greet you with a series of smoke and mirrors and it wasn't until you were neck deep in the shit, that you realized that you were f*cked.

Initially, you'd meet the owner/manager of the company, in this case, Wade.  Wade was a gregarious twenty-something year old man with an expensive suit, a gold ring and necklace and a flashy red sports car, like the one pictured here, parked by the front door of the business.  He'd tell you that YOU, TOO could be a success at an early age.  That you could be driving an expensive sports car, too. He'd give you all the bells and whistles and to a vulnerable young person, they believe that bullshit.  I believed that bullshit.

Once in their clutches, they'd have morning meetings to build up your self esteem.  Tell stories about Pandora's Box and other tales that were designed to make you more successful.  They'd tell you shit like, people who worked 9-to-5, 40-hour a week jobs, were just sheep.  They were following the herd and putting in the motions to make little or no money, while we were going to make up to $200 per day, and get paid daily as opposed to every two weeks.  Blah, blah, blah, lots of money, lots of opportunity, lots of blah, blah, blah.  And I believed that bullshit.  When my parents would tell me to quit, I was convinced that they didn't know what the f*ck they were talking about, because they were the mindless sheep that I was told about at work.

Wade mostly stayed in his office, rarely coming out to mingle with the workers who were lining his pockets with cash, but once in awhile, Wade would grace us with his presence and he'd joke and toss out a few bucks here and there to show his "appreciation", but it was all just a ruse.  A way to show-off a big wad of cash that "we could also have some day".

We were expected to be in the office by 7:30am, every morning.  Out of the office by eight and in the field long before 9am, knocking on doors and pitching our wares.  We would have to work the entire day, until about 7:30pm or 8 o'clock, then return to cash out our daily earnings.  Then, instead of being paid daily, like we were told, we were encouraged to "bank" our money, with the office, rather than keep it all to ourselves.  The money would be safe in their "bank", and you could get it whenever you wanted it, although when you'd attempt to get your money, they'd put up a helluva fight to give it up.  Not to mention, that the money you left in "the bank" never earned any f*cking interest.

They convinced us that our parents and society were mindless drones forced to work 40-hour work weeks, but in reality, it was us, working many more hours per day, six days a week.  Our families worked for a paycheck every two weeks and received the full amount earned, while we, the mindless brain-washed drones, easily worked roughly sixty hours per week, sometimes not earning anything more than a few bucks per day.  If you were working in the city, it was one thing, but if you were working out of town, that $7 that you earned that day, had to go towards paying for your hotel room, food and gas.  It shows how f*cking brain-washed we were, to accept these terms.

My breaking point was having a car accident.  The car I was driving, was rear ended on a road trip to Regina.  The drive home, I had to sit sideways in my seat, because I had severe whiplash and my head was stuck looking to the right.  I saw a doctor who recommended that I take some time off to heal, but when I went to the office to request the time off, they threatened to fire me, instead.  I beat them to the punch, telling them to "GO F*CK YOURSELVES, THEN!!"

I was in pain, but truthfully, I never felt better in my life.  I'd go on to get one of those mindless 40-hour a week jobs and when I received my first check, I kissed it and wanted to frame it.

I can't recall what the dream was, that I had this morning, regarding this terrible chapter of my life, but it reminded me of how good I have it now.  Things could have been a f*ck of a lot worse.