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“So sign-in, grab a clipboard, take a seat, and someone will come get you shortly,” the receptionist says as she walks back behind her desk.
Merlin smiles and does as he’s instructed; settling into a chair in the corner.
The form is the same as every other he’s been filling out for the past month. They say the economy is currently in a recovery period, but Merlin hasn’t found that to be the case. One would think companies would be lining up to hire a Masters candidate studying madness in Welsh Folklore, but sadly, the opposite seems to be the truth. Which is how he ended up here; applying for a job with no description other than ‘sales’ and only the words ‘earn cash fast, flexible student schedules, no telemarketing or door to door sales’ on their website. His mate Will had warned him that they were probably human traffickers, but at this point Merlin isn’t too far away from selling a kidney of his own volition. Not everyone has the luxury of working at the family pub.
The office is slightly more impressive than he imagined. Standard issue metal folding chairs line the waiting room area, with a couple rows of swivel chairs a bit further on in front of a large television. The walls are decorated with newspaper articles boasting of the company’s success and slightly dated motivational posters. There are two large standing fans blowing at maximum and almost succeeding moving the air enough to hide its staleness. Curiously, the table directly beside the TV holds a large assortment of kitchen knives and scissors. Ignoring the slightly worrisome décor, Merlin eyes up his competition.
Four men and three women sit with their heads down, scratching answers on their respective forms. All of them are dressed sharply in business attire, but they are all very clearly in their first or second year of university. There’s something in the shade of the girl’s lipstick or in the cut of the boy’s shirt that makes them look like they’re playing dress-up in clothes that don’t quite fit yet. Merlin isn’t sure whether or not his age and experience will give him an advantage or be a hindrance to him. One of the girls catches Merlin staring and he gives her a tentative smile. The girl looks back coldly before pulling her purse closer towards her and looking away. With a sinking feeling, Merlin pulls out his pen and turns to the task at hand.
Expecting the usual tedious questions: name, contact info, last two jobs, availability, he immediately discovers that is all the company wants to know. He finds it slightly bizarre that they asked him to bring a resume in addition to filling out the form. They won’t glean any new information that he hasn’t already typed up a hundred times and painstakingly reworded to fit every position under the sun. Especially insulting is the inch long box asking him to describe his past positions, as if he can cram three years’ worth of experience into such a small space. He’s half convinced companies make their application process difficult on purpose to prove the applicants can copy and paste to the right boxes.
He completes the form faster than any of his cohort and he can’t decide if he’s just fast or if they are all stalling on purpose to avoid an awkward silence. He decides to read it over for mistakes just for the hell of it when a new person walks into the office.
Tall and broad shouldered, the man possibly has the shiniest hair Merlin has ever seen. He approaches the desk and speaks in a low but confident voice.
“Arthur Pendragon, here to see Bill Moore.”
“Great!” the receptionist’s cheery tone sounds excessively loud in the otherwise silent room. “So sign-in, grab a clipboard, take a seat, and someone will come get you shortly.”
Two things worry Merlin about that interaction. The first is that she gave Merlin the same speech word for word, indicating that this is something she says far too often. Second is that Merlin is also supposed to be meeting with Bill Moore, and if the phone call he had with the representative that morning is accurate, the interview process is supposed to take forty-five minutes to an hour. Suddenly the abundance of chairs in front of the TV makes sense: group interview. As if to confirm his fears, a stocky ginger-haired man steps out of a side office, picks up the sign-in list, and calls the first name.
“Johnny Harrington?”
One of the waiting men stands up and follows the interviewer who Merlin assumes is Bill to the side office. At her desk, the receptionist takes a call and sets up an interview for a new candidate. The conversation is verbatim to the one he had that morning, right down to her asking what their last job was and saying “oh wow, that sounds so cool!” His feeing of unease grows.
Johnny couldn’t have been in the office for more than three minutes when the door opens again and he takes a seat in front of the TV as Bill calls the next name on the list. Definitely a group interview then. Not that group interviews are inherently evil, but given the choice, Merlin would have them banned for violating human rights laws. In one-on-one settings, Merlin shines. He can dazzle an employer like no other and bullshit his way through almost any question. But in group scenarios he tends to get lost in the crowd. At least in a normal interview where he knows what the position is, he can prepare more thoroughly. If this interview goes where he thinks it’s headed, the next hour is going to be very painful.
Sat across from him, Arthur is eyeing the TV set-up and frowning. As the second candidate comes out of the office and the third is called in, Arthur’s gaze slides to Merlin and he raises an eyebrow in what Merlin chooses to believe is a question of ‘did you know any of this was going to happen?’ Merlin gives him a tiny shrug in return and Arthur grimaces before turning back to his form. This gives Merlin an excellent opportunity to take in Arthur’s appearance.
He’s dressed in a suit and tie that’s clearly had a bit of tailoring done on it. Perhaps it’s the cut of his jaw or the aura of confidence he exudes, but Merlin would put money on him being older than the rest of their group. He doesn’t get long to ogle though, as the forth candidate is called into the office and Merlin decides he should probably spend his last few minutes doing some preparation instead of eyeing up his admittedly handsome competition.
Pulling out his phone, he’s glad to see that it has pulled itself together and found the network again. It’s completely out of character for him to charge into an interview without even researching the company first, but he wasn’t expecting to be contacted so soon after filling in his details on their website. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes after he hit ‘submit’ that he got the call, forcing Merlin to cut his lunch short and jump on the tube. Punching the ambiguous name ‘Trajectory Marketing’ into his browser, he sifts through the results for work testimonials. It’s almost sad how quickly into his search he starts finding negative results on an interview rating site.
‘This company is such a scam!!!’
‘FRAUD FRAUD FRAUD. MANAGERS TAKE 30% OF YOUR SALES AND YOU DO NOT SEE ANY MONEY. AVOID AT ALL COSTS.’
‘Got called in for an interview. The first part was a meet and greet with the manager that lasted barely four minutes. Found out after it was because he didn’t want to hire anyone he didn’t like the look of.’
‘Hey guys don’t believe the rest of the garbage on here. I began working for this company in 2007 and made 30k part time! It’s true that this job isn’t for everyone, but I now work for a Fortune 500 company and owe Trajectory a huge debt of thanks for giving me such a great fast-tracking opportunity.’
‘Above comment is so obviously a company troll running the scam. It’s sick how you prey on students who are so desperate for money they’ll believe your ploy.’
None of this is particularly surprising to Merlin. The guaranteed rate of ten pounds five pence seemed far too good to be an hourly rate but makes perfect sense in the context of a per sales call rate. Huffing a sigh, he shoves his phone back in his pocket and looks up to find Arthur watching him.
“Bad news?” Arthur asks quietly.
Somehow, Merlin gets the impression that Arthur knows exactly what Merlin was just doing.
“Nothing I couldn’t have predicted anyway,” he responds.
Arthur smirks and looks away just as Bill comes out of his office and calls, “Merlin Emrys?”
Resisting the urge to flee the office outright, Merlin pastes a grin on his face, picks up his satchel, and starts what feels like a death march to the side office.
“Hi, I’m Bill. Have a seat,” says the now confirmed Bill, gesturing to the side obviously meant for the candidates.
Watching Bill manoeuvre around his desk in the tight space, he reminds Merlin a little of Ed Sheeran. Granted, a less attractive, slightly beardier Ed Sheeran, but the resemblance is there none the less.
“So Merlin, thank you for coming in today,” Bill starts. “Just to let you know, this part of the interview is a little less formal and really just an opportunity for me to make sure all your paperwork is in order.”
Or to make sure Merlin isn’t too hideous for the job but hey, to each their own. Still smiling, Merlin hands over his clipboard and resume.
“Okay, everything looks fine here,” says Bill, barely glancing at the two page document Merlin has spent far too many hours slaving over for the amount of work it’s gotten him. “Can I ask Merlin, have you ever heard of ChopCo?”
He pretends to think about it for a moment before answering, “I don’t think so.”
Bill nods like he hears that a lot. “That’s not a problem. What attracted you to this position?”
“Well I’m a graduate student and my funding only applies from September to May so for the summer months I’m left in a bit of a limbo. Your website advertises flexible positions for students and I thought it would be a worthwhile avenue to pursue.”
If Merlin was an employer, he would give himself a ten out of ten and hire him on the spot. Bill clearly doesn’t agree, as he doesn’t do anything more than nod again.
“Great! Well I think I’ve heard all I need to for now. The next part of the process is a bit of a group presentation. Don’t worry, I’m still going to be doing most of the talking, but for now just take a seat in front of the TV and get comfortable.” He stands and moves awkwardly to the door and Merlin rises to join him.
He crosses the short distance to the group area only to find everyone has spaced themselves out so there is an empty chair between each of them. Not one to break ranks, Merlin drops into a free chair that fits their pattern as behind him, Arthur is called to the interview room. Merlin turns around to watch as Arthur picks up his leather briefcase and strolls confidently across the room. Arthur shoots him a glance as he passes and Merlin gives a tiny shake of his head in an attempt to say ‘brace yourself’. Apparently his meaning is clear enough as Arthur rolls his eyes before passing through the doorway. Merlin watches the door a few minutes for lack of anything better to do until his neck starts to protest. As he turns to face the front, he spots the conspicuous display of knives again.
Knives. ChopCo. Sales. But no. Surely not. Just as the horrifying realisation of what this job is dawns on him, the office door opens again and Bill steps out followed closely by Arthur. Arthur apparently, does not care to stick to the status quo and drops into the chair directly beside Merlin.
“So what do you reckon: pyramid or Ponzi scheme?” asks Arthur, leaning into Merlin’s personal space.
“Bit of both really,” Merlin whispers back. “Do you know we’re meant to be selling - ”
“Alright, so welcome everyone,” interrupts Bill. “Thanks for all taking time out of your afternoon to come down here today. Just so you know, that first kind of quick interview was just so I could double-check and make sure you aren’t, you know, some kind of crazy person, since that’s not the type of person we want handling our product.” He laughs and most of the group lets out a small chuckle. “That brings us in to the second part of the interview which is really more of a casual presentation. I tell you a little about our product and you prove to me that you have the kind of people skills we’re looking for. If you’re a bit shy, just fake it for the next hour, and at the end you’ll know right away if you have the job. This bit also gives me an excellent chance to show off our products so let’s jump right into it.” He roots around in the desk and pulls out a pair of scissors. “Now, can anyone tell me what these are?”
“Oh for the love of,” Arthur mutters.
“Yup,” Merlin agrees.
The rest of the group chorus ‘scissors’ and Bill smiles at them.
“Exactly. These are what we call our Super Snippers. Now, the neat thing about them is…” Merlin tunes out of Bill’s well practiced speech and dips his head towards Arthur.
“So I take it you’re surprised that you’re currently sitting in a knife salesman interview?”
“You think?” Arthur grumbles. “I wouldn’t voluntarily miss out on seeing Olivier Giroud play what is predicted to be the best game of his career to sit through a presentation on bloody scissors.”
“You’re an Arsenal man?”
Arthur looks surprised and gives him an appreciative nod. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a footy fan.”
“I don’t blame you. I support Reading myself, though I wouldn’t kick Giroud out of bed.”
A pause hangs between them before Arthur chuckles and says “neither would I.”
Merlin grins at him and turns his attention back to the presentation where Bill has apparently decided the best way of demonstrating the impressive power of the Super Snippers is by cutting a 1p coin into a spiral.
“My god, is that even legal?” murmurs Arthur.
It may be his imagination, but he thinks Arthur has leaned a little closer.
“I mean, it’s certainly impressive,” Arthur continues, “but surely there’s a cheaper way to make a point!”
“Maybe it’s part of a brainwashing scheme. ‘Look kids, money is meaningless! You better learn quick because you aren’t going to see any working here!’”
Arthur stifles a giggle behind his hand.
“Now, can anyone tell me what the problem is with using regular scissors?” Bill asks, his eyes sweeping the room.
“You can’t use them to break out of handcuffs?” Merlin suggests quietly.
A far more earnest young man pipes up with, “they get jammed?”
“Exactly!” Bill gives him a wide smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We cut all kinds of sticky packaging that gunks up the blades. But with the Super Snippers,” he twists and gives a gentle tug and the two blades separate, “that’s not a problem. Pop ’em apart, give ’em a rinse, and you’re good to go!”
Around him, his peers murmur excitedly. If Merlin is being completely honest with himself, the demonstration is fairly impressive. But the prospect of actually having to sell the product is not one he’s looking forward to.
“I feel like I’m in an infomercial,” Arthur groans.
“Okay, so I’m going to pass these around while I get our second product ready,” says Bill, leaning across the desk to make good on his word.
“What do you reckon are the odds that someone has stabbed themselves during the pass round?”
Arthur’s breath is warm in Merlin’s ear but he’s able to hide his shiver in the shaking of his shoulders as he rumbles with silent laughter.
“He covered that in our pre-screening interview, remember? None of us look crazy so we’re probably safe handling scissors.”
“True,” Arthur nods, “and I feel like that would have made it to the front page of the very basic Google search I did on my bus in.”
“At least you had time to research on the way over. My trip is all on the tube, I had to do mine in the waiting room,” Merlin grouses.
“You got a last minute interview too?”
“Yup. Which didn’t trouble me at the time but now makes me wonder if they try to get people in as soon as possible to prevent people from reading up on their terrible company. That or if they’re really hurting for employees right now.”
“Both of those make sense,” Arthur nods. “I was referred by a mate who, now that I think about it, isn’t much of a mate. I thought he got me an interview so quickly by being well-liked in the company, but it’s far more likely that the boss gave him fifty quid to rope as many people as he could in for interviews. I was kind of hoping this was some kind of hitman job. I’m actually a little disappointed in how normal this scam is.”
Merlin cocks his head in agreement and accepts the scissors from a girl wearing far too much mascara. They feel like pretty much every other pair of scissors he’s ever held. At the front of the room, Bill has finished setting up his display.
“So, can I get a volunteer to come up here and help me cut this rope?”
“Temptation. To. End. It. All. Overwhelming,” Arthur chokes out. “Can’t. Resist. Urge. To. Stab.” He raises a shaky hand towards the scissors and Merlin reaches out to grab it.
“Shhhhh, here look, I think we’re about to get a magic show.” Merlin keeps his eyes facing forward but lets his hand linger on Arthur’s.
“Wouldn’t want to miss that,” says Arthur, voice dripping with sarcasm. He gives Merlin a thrill though when he gives his hand a brief squeeze before taking it back. He grabs the scissors with his other hand and performs the same rudimentary inspection as everyone else. “Do you reckon he’d notice if I dropped these in my bag?”
“Those scissors probably cost more than he makes in an hour,” Merlin snorts. “So yes.”
“Damn, guess I’ll have to find something else to take home with me.” His tone is casual but the way he drapes his arm on Merlin’s chair is anything but.
Merlin raises an eyebrow but continues to stare straight ahead.
“So that took Wasim what, six or seven saws to cut through? Now try it with a ChopCo knife.”
Bill repositions the rope as Wasim picks up the blade. It slides through the rope as if it were butter.
“Finally, something to take care of all my rope cutting needs!” Arthur clasps his hands together in mock prayer.
“I mean, is it cool? Yes. Do I actually need to spend money on a very expensive knife when he just proved your standard Asda make can do the same job in roughly thirty seconds? No.”
Bill’s gaze flicks his way and Merlin smiles and nods along like a pro.
“So, at this point we’ve pretty much gone through the entire binder you’ll take with you on sales calls. What do you think most customers are wondering about at this stage?”
The rest of the cohort stay suspiciously silent, as if afraid they’ll get the answer wrong.
“Price?” says Arthur offhandedly.
“Exactly!” Bill beams at him. “So most of our products actually start as low as twenty-five pounds, and people can mix and match with different set pieces to create their perfect combination.”
“For twenty-five pounds I’m betting all they’ll get is the leather holder,” Merlin whispers.
“Even better is how you guys profit from this,” Bill continues.
“Oh, here we go.” Arthur settles back in his chair, elbow still lingering on Merlin’s armrest.
“So, like you were told on the phone by the lovely Erin,” he winks at the receptionist’s back, “every sales call you make gives you a guaranteed ten pounds and five pence. However, most of our employees don’t concern themselves with the guaranteed rate and opt to take the commission rate instead. The commission rate goes up on a sliding scale. Once you hit a hundred pounds worth of sales, you start making ten percent on every commission. That rate stays fixed until you reach the next level which is twenty percent at five hundred pounds worth of sales. The top level you can reach is thirty percent at a thousand pounds worth of sales. So say you’ve hit the twenty percent level but you have an off presentation and only sell three hundred pounds worth of product. You’d still make twenty percent commission off that sale which means you’re walking away with sixty pounds in your pocket. That ten pounds five pence doesn’t look so appealing now, does it?”
The younglings shake their head eagerly and Arthur leans towards Merlin again.
“So not only is the guaranteed rate not an hourly salary, but you also have to choose between getting it or the commission? What a load of bollocks.”
“Especially since I’m assuming once you lock yourself into the commission rate you stop getting the guaranteed rate altogether. What happens if you have a week where you have twenty calls but don’t make any sales? Have fun eating ramen, kids.”
“And the best part is, as part of your training, you get paid to practice on your family and friends!” Bill claps his hands together like this is the best news in the world. “Everyone in this company starts in the same entry level sales position as you’re all here for, so I’ll use my career as an example.”
“Well that’s a lie,” Arthur mutters. “Obviously someone had to found the company before hiring the sales associates.”
“So here’s my story. I started by giving a presentation to my mum, my dad, and my grandma. Now at the end of the presentation, I asked each of them ‘hey, do you know anyone who might be interested in seeing the same presentation?’ and they each gave me five names, so fifteen people to call.”
“Oh fuck off,” Merlin bites out.
“Of those fifteen people, ten were willing to see a presentation. And at the end of the presentations, they each gave me five names, giving me a total list of fifty people to call. This is how fast it builds! By the end of my second week, I already had too many names to call and was up to earning twenty percent commission. The average customer order is actually two hundred and fifty pounds and with our training, we have a closing rate of three out of five customers. So if you’re making twenty calls a week and sell to twelve customers, you’re making an easy six hundred pounds per week!”
“Yeah, by taking advantage of the charity of your family and friends!” Merlin doesn’t bother keeping his voice down, but his words are swallowed up by the general frenzy and excitement of his peers.
Arthur remains uncharacteristically quiet, merely nodding along with Merlin’s sentiment.
“The only stipulations we put on your presentations is that they are given to customers between thirty and seventy years of age that have a steady source of income. And no large groups of people; married couples are okay but no selling at hen dos! Now, do you think you’re going to sell more products: by showing them pictures or by doing the same kind of demonstration I just did?”
The group echoes as one in a chorus of “demonstration” and Merlin sees red.
As if Arthur can feels Merlin’s rage, he lets his leg fall gently against Merlin’s in a silent act of solidarity.
“Bingo,” says Bill. “Now, you have two choices when it comes to your demo set. The retail price is two hundred and sixty-three pounds. ChopCo offers it for an eighty percent discount making it fifty three pounds. You can also choose to rent the kit simply by putting down a cheque for the full amount as a deposit. So you have options.”
“Like any of these infants have two sixty in their bank accounts,” Arthur scoffs.
“Gee, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound like they actually give you much of a choice. And isn’t it nice that ChopCo makes a neat fifty pounds off every sales rep that decides to give it a go.” Merlin’s barely keeping his volume under control but at this point, he’s made his decision about accepting the job.
“And that’s about it, guys.” Bill claps his hands together. “The only other thing I need from you is one last form. Basically, the first seven questions are all yes or no. If you answer the seventh one with yes, fill out the long answer questions and then we’ll meet back in my office one-on-one to discuss your start date!”
He passes the forms around in a pile and Merlin considers walking out there and then. Unfortunately, his damn pride won’t let him leave without finishing a task to completion so he takes a form and with a bitter click of his pen, begins to tick the boxes.
Do you like working with people?
Do you feel comfortable handling knives?
Do you feel you would be able to sell ChopCo products?
Do you have access to a car or public transportation?
Do you have a business professional wardrobe?
Are you available to come into the office for three days of unpaid training?
Are you interested in pursuing this opportunity further?
Merlin ticks the last ‘no’ box with a resounding scratch. He looks around and to his dismay, sees his peers eagerly filling out the rest of the form. Hope in the generation of tomorrow rapidly disappearing, he turns to his right to find Arthur staring at him expectantly.
“I think we’re finished here.” Arthur plucks the form neatly out of his lap and turns both of them over to Bill.
If Bill is surprised that the first two forms he gets are both no’s, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he graciously shakes both their hands and thanks them for coming in.
“Come along, Merlin,” says Arthur cheerfully, gesturing for Merlin to take the lead.
Together they troop out of the office and down the stairs to street level. The blinding afternoon sun feels like freedom and Merlin inhales deeply.
“You know,” says Arthur as he pulls on a pair of aviators, “I don’t hold it against those kids up there for signing up. A job’s a job and if they’re that desperate for money, I wish them all the best. But I also know a scam when I see one and working for a sketchy pyramid company is perhaps not the best way to start my post-uni career. That and I can’t see my father being overly-pleased with me hocking knives to his business associates.”
“That’s sixty minutes of my life I’ll never get back. Three hours really if you add travel,” Merlin moans.
“Well,” Arthur looks at him over the top of his glasses, “since your afternoon is already shot to hell, how do you fancy getting a cuppa with me? Or something stronger. It’s five o’clock somewhere and all that jazz.”
Merlin snorts. “As if you need to justify day-drinking in this country.”
“Too true,” Arthur agrees. “So, what do you say Emrys? You’ve already made the trek into central, you may as well get something good out of it?”
“Oh, and you think you’re good enough to be my reward, do you?” Merlin raises an eyebrow.
“I said I wanted to take something home with me,” says Arthur nonchalantly. His voice may be neutral, but Merlin can see the way his eyes are locked on Merlin’s lips behind his shades.
Electricity dancing across his skin, Merlin chooses his next words carefully. “Maybe you should have taken the job. You make a rather good sales pitch.”
“Is that a yes then?” Arthur smirks.
“It’s a yes to the drinks.” Merlin prods his chest with his index finger. “How about we work up to the second part of your proposition?”
“That,” says Arthur swinging an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and drawing him in tight, “is better than a thirty percent commission any day.”