My Own Little Sales Scam
title>Untitled Document
Half as Much
I was out of work again, and the unemployment checks weren't cutting it. I did what I always do in these situations, and looked around for things to sell.
It wasn't hard. The past few years had been good for me professionally, and my surroundings testified to this modest success. My shelves were bulging with books and compact discs. But whereas they'd once been proud symbols of a supposedly rich inner life, now they represented just so much consumer fat, to be burned off in order to see me through my lean days.
Fine, but how to sell the damn stuff? I had long since given up on eBay: the deadbeat bidders, the miserable drudgery of tracking auctions, the tedium of relisting unsold items. I couldn't go through that again.
Then I heard about Half.com. The premise was simple: just list your unwanted stuff, and wait for somebody to buy it. No time limits, no bids, no deadbeats. Buyers pay by credit card, Half took a cut of the sale price, and you got the rest. Half even reimbursed you for shipping. It sounded too good not to try.
I listed a bunch of books and CDs as a test, starting with the most useless. To my amazement, the shit sold. All of it. That feng shui book a coworker had given me? Gone in two days. That crappy Curtis Mayfield tribute album? Gone in a week. Ditto for The Pharmaceutical Word Book, and that horrible Susan Cheever memoir. Not only did it all sell, but I got real money for it.
Almost daily I brought packages down to the post office, and twice a month another Half.com check would arrive promptly in the mailbox, adding a nice boost to my floundering fortunes. I wasn't exactly ready to retire, but the extra cash was a godsend.
I sold everything that wasn't nailed down. Pretty soon I was faced with a new problem: I was running out of stuff to sell. I began to feel the familiar twinge of withdrawal. Like a compulsive gambler, I would lie awake at night in bed, dreaming of my next big score. I begged my wife to bring home any extra books lying around the publishing house where she works; I found myself rummaging through thrift shops for cheap hardcovers and paperbacks that I could resell for a profit. But there just wasn't enough to sell, and I fell into a funk.
It was a few weeks later when, flipping through a magazine, my eyes lingered on an advertisement. It took a few seconds to sink in, and when it did my despair turned to joy. It was so simple! The answer had been right there all along! It was an ad I had seen so many times, in so many magazines, that it had become virtually invisible to me: "12 CDs or Tapes for a Penny!"
I caught myself. No, it was too absurd. The one and only time I had joined a music club was in the sixth grade. I could still remember my excitement upon receiving that shipment of records. The first six Kiss records! Jefferson Starship's Red Octopus! Joe Walsh, Steve Miller and Emerson, Lake & Palmer! Though as soon as Columbia House started demanding I fulfill the rest of my contract, Mommy wrote an angry letter informing them that I was a minor, and that was that.
Luckily, the BMG Music Service has a better plan: 11 CDs for the price of one, with nothing more to buy, ever! The fools! I could get my free music and then cancel at any time. I did the math. I stood to make a nice profit if I picked my CDs carefully. I researched the Half.com bestsellers list, then filled out the little card and sent it in.
A few weeks later, the package came. I stared in amazement at the booty. The whole thing was insane. That afternoon, with trembling hands, I listed them all. I was briefly seized with panic: what if they didn't sell? What the hell was I going to do with three copies of Ricky Martin? Or Britney Spears, the Dixie Chicks and Eminem? Then I figured, if that was the case, a lot of my friends were going to be scratching their heads come Christmas.
As it turned out, my fears were unfounded. Not only did they all sell, but they sold within 24 hours. Every time I logged on, a few more cheerful e-mails from Half.com would be sitting in my inbox: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU'VE MADE A SALE AT HALF.COM! It was success beyond my wildest dreams. I'd nearly tripled my investment in a day.
Since then, I've joined every music club I can find. I figure, at this point, that I've probably sold more NSYNC than Tower Records. Whenever one of my hip friends raves about the new opus by DJ Sasha, or gushes about some killer import of Mongolian plate-breaking music, I casually tell them that the last records I got were Britney Spears, NSYNC and Eminem. They never believe me. Maybe next Christmas, they will.