Multi-level scam?

My friend Jonathan Black called the other day. He’s a talented journalist and book author. Last year his book, “Yes You Can!” was published. The book is a pretty hilarious yet informational tour of the motivational-speaking circuit, a portion of which is dedicated to multi-level marketing moguls. He was all over XanGo for a while for a story he was researching for Playboy. XanGo is a “delicious dietary supplement. XanGo® Juice harnesses the nutritional power of the whole mangosteen fruit through a potent proprietary formula,” according to their website.

And, for the uninitiated, which is kind of hard to still be if you reside on planet earth, mutli-level marketing businesses, or MLMs, “function by recruiting salespeople to sell a product and offer additional sales commissions based on the sales of people recruited into an organization. Royalties are paid from the sales of individuals--franchisees--to the franchisor. There can be seven or more levels of people receiving royalties from one person's sales."

That, minus some editing, comes straight from that paragon of precision and rigor, Wikipedia. Anyway, you get the idea. MLMs have been known for years variously as pyramid scams, shell games and the Amway thing.

Jonathan and I trade ideas, contacts and funny stories about the nature of our loony biz. He called this time to tell me a story that he thought would be helpful for my blog. If you knew Jonathan you might be inclined to rush things and try to tease the story out of him before he was ready. Maybe it’s because sometimes he’ll give you the “punch line” first and then meanders his way back to the point. When you do try to ask too many questions too fast (a big problem of mine), he’s likely to get annoyed and say something like, “I’m about to tell you!” Subtext is “If you’d just shut up.”

Here’s how a recent conversation went:

Ring ring.

Me: Hey there. (I already know it’s him; caller ID, dontcha know.)
JB: I had a massage the other day at Nirvana, it’s like this nail place. Forty-nine bucks.
Me: That’s a pretty cheap price. Was it any good?
JB: When I walked into the room I thought the guy was the janitor.
Me: (Laughing) Was it really bad?
JB: I don’t know. . .
Me: So you liked it?
JB: Not really. I think I fell asleep.
Me: That’s always good.
JB: It was about 10 minutes before the massage was over.
Me: What do you mean? That’s when you started enjoying it?
JB: Not exactly. Maybe. When it was over he handed me his card, in case I wanted to schedule another massage. But it wasn’t even a business card, like it didn’t even say he was a massage therapist.
Me: Huh?
JB: It says (pause as he reads). It says The Dubensky Family.
Me: (guffaw)What’s that supposed to mean? Like the whole family gives massages?
JB: Maybe.
Me: Well then—(I’m cut off)
JB: I’m about to tell you!
Me: Something like, Yes, sir.
JB: During most of the treatment he kept talking to me about Himalayan Goji. Have you ever heard of it?
Me: (A light goes on) Oh, so you think he’s one of those multi-level dudes and he was using the cheap massage to lure people in so he could have one uninterrupted hour of Goji selling?
JB: The massage wasn’t bad. . .

You get the idea. Eventually, he confirmed that that’s exactly what The Dubensky family does. Ethical? Mmmmm. Maybe not. You decide.

Did Jonathan buy any Goji juice? I didn't ask. I'll get the story someday.